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diff --git a/24828.txt b/24828.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b119eb8 --- /dev/null +++ b/24828.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6044 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Margaret Montfort, by Laura E. Richards + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Margaret Montfort + +Author: Laura E. Richards + +Illustrator: Etheldred B. Barry + +Release Date: March 14, 2008 [EBook #24828] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARGARET MONTFORT *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + + +MARGARET MONTFORT + + + + +_Books by Laura E. Richards._ + + +"Mrs. Richards has made for herself a little niche apart in the literary +world, from her delicate treatment of New England village +life."--_Boston Post._ + + +THE CAPTAIN JANUARY SERIES. + +=CAPTAIN JANUARY.= 16mo, cloth, 50 cents. + +A charming idyl of New England coast life, whose success has been very +remarkable. One reads it, is thoroughly charmed by it, tells others, and +so its fame has been heralded by its readers, until to-day it is selling +by the thousands, constantly enlarging the circle of its delighted +admirers. + +=SAME.= _Illustrated Holiday Edition._ With thirty half-tone pictures +from drawings by Frank T. Merrill. 4to, cloth, $1.25. + + +=MELODY.= The Story of a Child. 16mo, 50 cents. + +"Had there never been a 'Captain January,' 'Melody' would easily take +first place."--_Boston Times._ + +"The quaintly pretty, touching, old-fashioned story is told with perfect +grace; the few persons who belong to it are touched on with distinctness +and with sympathy."--_Milwaukee Sentinel._ + +=SAME.= _Illustrated Holiday Edition._ With thirty half-tone pictures +from drawings by Frank T. Merrill. 4to, cloth, $1.25. + + +=MARIE.= 16mo, 50 cents. + +"Seldom has Mrs. Richards drawn a more irresistible picture, or framed +one with more artistic literary adjustment."--_Boston Herald._ + +"A perfect literary gem."--_Boston Transcript._ + + +=NARCISSA=, and a companion story, =IN VERONA=. 16mo, cloth, 50 cents. + +"Each is a simple, touching, sweet little story of rustic New England +life, full of vivid pictures of interesting character, and refreshing +for its unaffected genuineness and human feeling."--_Congregationalist._ + +"They are the most charming stories ever written of American country +life."--_New York World._ + + +=JIM OF HELLAS; or, IN DURANCE VILE=, and a companion story, =BETHESDA +POOL=. 16mo, 50 cents. + + +=SOME SAY=, and a companion story, =NEIGHBOURS IN CYRUS=. 16mo, 50 +cents. + + +=ROSIN THE BEAU.= 16mo, 50 cents. A sequel to "Melody." + + +=ISLA HERON.= A charming prose idyl of quaint New England life. Small +quarto, cloth, 75 cents. + + +=NAUTILUS.= A very interesting story, with illustrations; uniquely +bound, small quarto, cloth, 75 cents. + + +=FIVE MINUTE STORIES.= A charming collection of short stories and clever +poems for children. Small quarto, cloth, $1.25. + + +=THREE MARGARETS.= One of the most clever stories for girls that the +author has written. 16mo, cloth, $1.25. + + +=MARGARET MONTFORT.= A new volume in the series of which "Three +Margarets" was so successful as the initial volume. 16mo, cloth, +handsome cover design, $1.25. + + +=LOVE AND ROCKS.= A charming story of one of the pleasant islands that +dot the rugged Maine coast, told in the author's most graceful manner. +With etching frontispiece by Mercier. Tall 16mo, unique cover design on +linen, gilt top, $1.00. + + +_Dana Estes & Company, Publishers, Boston._ + +[Illustration: MARGARET MONTFORT.] + + + + + +MARGARET MONTFORT + +BY + +LAURA E. RICHARDS + + AUTHOR Of "CAPTAIN JANUARY," "MELODY," + "QUEEN HILDEGARDE," ETC. + +Illustrated by + +ETHELDRED B. BARRY + +[Illustration] + + BOSTON + DANA ESTES & COMPANY + PUBLISHERS + + + + + _Copyright, 1898_ + BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY + + Colonial Press + + Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. + Boston, U.S.A. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. PRESENT AND ABSENT 11 + + II. DOMESTIC 25 + + III. THE UNEXPECTED 44 + + IV. THE TRIALS OF MARGARET 61 + + V. A NEW TYPE 77 + + VI. A LESSON IN GEOGRAPHY 96 + + VII. THE DAUNTLESS THREE 114 + + VIII. THE FIRST CONQUEST 129 + + IX. A NEWCOMER 145 + + X. "I MUST HELP MYSELF" 164 + + XI. THE SECOND CONQUEST 179 + + XII. THE VOICE OF FERNLEY 195 + + XIII. WHO DID IT? 212 + + XIV. BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE 231 + + XV. A DEPARTURE 249 + + XVI. PEACE 264 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS. + + + PAGE + + MARGARET MONTFORT _Frontispiece_ + + "AFTERWARDS SHE SALLIED OUT INTO THE GARDEN" 63 + + "'DID YOU BRING A BOOK TO READ TO ME, LITTLE GIRL?'" 84 + + "THE LITTLE GIRL HAD NEVER STIRRED, BUT STOOD GAZING UP + AT THE BIG MAN WHO HELD HER HANDS" 120 + + "MERTON WAS TEASING CHIQUITO" 153 + + "'WON'T YOU COME IN?'" 175 + + A LIVELY GHOST 247 + + "THE 'FLAIL OF THE DESERT'" 268 + + + + +MARGARET MONTFORT. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +PRESENT AND ABSENT. + + +"It shall be exactly as you please, my dear!" said Mr. Montfort. "I have +no wish in the matter, save to fulfil yours. I had thought it would be +pleasanter, perhaps, to have the rooms occupied; but your feeling is +most natural, and there is no reason why you should not keep your +present room." + +"Thank you, uncle!" said the girl whom he addressed as Margaret, and +whom some of my readers may have met before. "It is not that I don't +love the dear rooms, nor that it would not be a joy to be in them, for +some reasons; but,--I think, just to go and sit there every day, alone +or with you, and think about her,--it seems as if that would be easier +just now, dear uncle. You always understand, Uncle John!" + +Mr. Montfort nodded, and puffed thoughtfully at his cigar. The two, +uncle and niece, were sitting on the wide verandah of Fernley House; it +was a soft, fair June evening, and the fireflies were flitting through +the trees, and one or two late birds were chirping drowsily. There were +only the two of them at Fernley now, for one day, some two months ago, +the beloved Aunt Faith had fallen quietly asleep, and passed in sleep +away from age and weakness and weariness. Margaret missed her sadly +indeed; but there was no bitterness in her grieving, and she felt all +the more need of keeping the house cheerful and bright for her uncle, +who had lost the faithful and affectionate friend who had been for years +like a second mother to him. They talked of her a great deal, of the +beauty and helpfulness of the long life that had brought so much joy to +others; just now Mr. Montfort had proposed that Margaret should occupy +the White Rooms, which had been Mrs. Cheriton's special apartments in +the great rambling house; but he did not urge the matter, and they sat +in silence for a time, feeling the soft beauty of the evening wrap them +round like a garment of rest. + +"And what have you been doing all day, while I was in town?" asked Mr. +Montfort presently. "You were not too lonely, May Margaret?" + +"Oh, no, not a bit too lonely; just enough to make it very good to have +one's Uncle John come back. Let me see! After you went, I fed Chiquito, +and stayed with him quite a while, talking and singing. He is so +pitiful, poor old fellow! Then I took a walk, and dropped in to see how +Mrs. Peyton was; she asked me to come in the morning, you know, when I +could." + +"And how was she? Superb as ever?" + +"Just, Uncle John! Her dressing-jacket was blue this time, and there was +a new kind of lace on her pillows." + +"Oh! she has lace on her pillows, has she, my dear?" + +"Didn't I tell you, uncle? Pillows and sheets are trimmed with real +lace, most magnificent. To-day it was Valenciennes, really lovely +Valenciennes, to match her cap and the frills on her jacket. And +turquoise buttons and cap-pins; oh, she was a vision of beauty, I assure +you. The pale pink roses on the table by her bed gave just the right +touch to accentuate--if that is what I mean--all the blue. She is an +artist in effects. She must have been very beautiful, Uncle John? She is +beautiful now, of course, only so worn and fragile." + +"Yes, she was extremely beautiful, in her way," said Mr. Montfort; "and +she was always, as you say, an artist in effects. And in a good many +other things," he murmured, half under his breath. "She was glad to see +you, no doubt, my child?" + +"Oh, yes; she is always most cordial and kind. She made me tell her just +how you were looking,--she always does that; and what you were doing." + +"Emily Peyton is a singular woman," said Mr. Montfort, thoughtfully. +"She suffers, no doubt, and I am glad if you can be a comfort to her, +Margaret; but be a little careful, my dear; be a little careful with +Mrs. Peyton! H'm! ha! yes, my love! and what else did you say you had +done to amuse yourself?" + +"Why, Uncle John, do you think I have to be amusing myself all day? What +a frivolous creature you must think me! I practised after I came home; +and then I had lunch, and then I arranged the flowers, and then I made +some buttonholes, and all the rest of the afternoon I sat under the big +tulip-tree, reading 'Henry Esmond.' So you see, I have really had the +most delightful day, Uncle John." + +"Especially the last part of it," said her uncle, smiling. "Esmond was +rather more delightful than the buttonholes, eh, Meg?" + +"Well, possibly!" Margaret admitted. "He is rather more delightful than +almost anything else, isn't he? But not half so good as one's Uncle +John, when he comes home in the gloaming, with his pockets full of +bonbons and letters for his unworthy niece." + +"Flatterer!" said Mr. Montfort. "Does this come of visiting Mrs. Peyton? +She used to be an adept in the art. But what do our two other Margarets +say? Has Peggy set the prairies on fire yet? She will some day, you +know." + +"Do you think the mosquitoes would quite devour us if I brought the +small lamp out here? I really must read you the letters, and it is too +lovely to go in. Shall I try?" + +Margaret brought the lamp, and, drawing a letter from her pocket, began +to read: + + "DARLING MARGARET: + + "I was so glad to get your letter. It was + splendid, and I'm going to copy out a lot of + the things you said, and pin them up by my + looking-glass. My hair _will not_ part + straight, because I have the most frightful + cowlick-- + +"I don't believe you care for this part, do you, Uncle John? Poor little +Peggy's difficulties are very funny sometimes." + +"Why, I like it all, Meg, if you think Peggy would not mind my hearing +it. It is all sweet and wholesome, I know; but leave out anything you +think I should not hear." + +"Oh, there isn't anything, really. I'll go on, if you like. Where was I? +Oh!-- + + "The most frightful cowlick. The reason I tried + was because you said my forehead was nice. I + hope you will not think me very vain, Margaret. + And you know, no one is wearing bangs any more, + not even curly ones. So I have put it straight + back now, and Pa likes it, and says I look like + his mother. Margaret, will you try to get me + the receipt for barley soup, the way Frances + makes it? Mother isn't well, and I thought I + would try if I could make some. I think, + Margaret, that I am going to find something I + can really do! I think it is cooking! What do + you think of that? Our cook went away to her + brother's wedding last week, and Mother was + sick, and so I tried; and Pa (I tried saying + Father, but he wouldn't let me!) said the + things tasted good, and I had a knack for + flavouring. That made me feel so happy, + Margaret! Because I had just gone ahead till I + thought a thing tasted right. I did not want to + be bothering 'round with cook-books, and + besides, ours was lost, for Betsy can't read, + so there was no use for one. I made an + apple-pudding yesterday, and Pa had two helps, + and all the boys wanted three, but there wasn't + enough, though I made it in the big meat-pie + pan. Darling Margaret, do please write again + very soon, and tell me about everything at + dear, darling Fernley. How is Chiquito, and + does Uncle John ever speak of me? I miss him + dreadfully, but I miss you most of all, darling + Margaret,--I never get over missing you. I have + a new dog, a setter, a perfect beauty. I asked + Hugh to name him for me, and he named him + Hamlet, because he was black and white, and + Hugh thought he was going to be melancholy, but + he grins and wiggles all over every time you + look at him. I am teaching him to jump over a + stick and he does it beautifully,--only the + other day I stood too near the looking-glass, + and he jumped into that, and smashed it, and + frightened himself almost to death, poor puppy. + Margaret, I read a little history every + day,--not very much, but I think of you when I + read it, and that makes it better. Pa says I am + going to school next year; won't that be fun? + Hugh is reading 'John Brent' to me in the + evenings. Oh, how perfectly splendid it is! If + I had a horse like Fulano, I would live with + him all the time, and never leave him for five + minutes. I want dreadfully to go out west and + find Luggernel Alley. Hugh says perhaps we + shall go some day, just him and me. That + doesn't look right, Margaret, but I tried + writing 'he and I' on a piece of paper, and it + didn't look any better, so I guess I'll leave + it as it is. Do you think I write better? I am + trying to take a lot of pains. I try to think + of all the things you tell me, dear Margaret. + Mother thinks I am doing better, I know. Mother + and I have real good talks together, like we + never used to before, and she tells me what she + used to do when she was a girl. I guess she had + some pretty hard times. I guess I'm a pretty + lucky girl, Margaret. Now I must go and get + mother's supper. Give lots and lots of love to + Uncle John, and some to Elizabeth and Frances, + and say--I can't spell it, but the Spanish + thing I learned--to poor Chiquito. But most + love of all to your own, dear, darling self, + Margaret, from + + "PEGGY." + +Mr. Montfort curled his moustaches in silence for some minutes, when the +reading was over. + +"Dear little girl!" he said at last. "Good little Peggy! So she will +learn to cook, will she? And she is getting hold of her mother! This is +as it should be, Margaret, eh?" + +"Oh, yes!" cried Margaret. "Oh, Uncle John, this letter makes me feel so +happy about the child. At first, you know, she missed us all more than +she should have,--really. And--and I think that, except for Hugh, +perhaps they did not receive her in quite the way they might have, +laughing at her a good deal, and sneering when she tried to make little +improvements. I don't mean Aunt Susan or Uncle James, but the younger +children, and George, who must be--whom I don't fancy, somehow. And she +has been so brave, and has tried so hard to be patient and gentle. I +think our Peggy will make a very fine woman, don't you, uncle?" + +"I do, my love. I have a great tenderness for Peggy. When she is at +school, she must come here for her vacations, or some of them, at +least." + +"And she owes this all to you!" cried Margaret, with shining eyes. "If +she had never come here, Uncle John, I feel as if she might have grown +up--well, pretty wild and rough, I am afraid. Oh, she ought to love you, +and she does." + +"Humph!" said Mr. Montfort, dryly. "Yes, my dear, she does, and I am +very glad of the dear little girl's love. But as for owing it all to me, +why, Margaret, there may be two opinions about that. Well, and what says +our Bird of Paradise?" + +"Rita? Oh, uncle, I don't know what you will think of this letter." + +"Don't read it, my dear, if you think it is meant for you alone. You can +tell me if she is well and happy." + +"That is just it, Uncle John. She wants to go to Europe, and her father +does not approve of her going just at present, and so--well, you shall +hear part of it, at any rate. + + "Margaret, my Soul!" + +"That sounds natural!" said Mr. Montfort. "That is undoubtedly Rita, +Margaret; go on! If you were her soul, my dear, my brother Richard would +have a quieter life. Go on." + + "Hardly a week has passed since last I wrote, + yet to-night I fly again in spirit to you, + since my burning heart must pour itself out to + some other heart that can beat with mine. It is + midnight. All day I have suffered, and now I + fain would lose myself in sleep. But no! My + eyes are propped open, my heart throbs to + suffocation, I enrage, I tear myself--how + should sleep come to such as I? O Marguerite, + there in your cool retreat, with that best of + men, my uncle,--yours also,--a Paladin, but one + whose blood flows, or rests, quietly, as yours, + can you feel for me, for your Rita, who burns, + who dissolves in anguish? Listen! I desire to + go to Europe. I have never seen it, as you + know. Spain, the home of my ancestors, the + cradle of the San Reals, is but a name to me. + Now I have the opportunity. An escort offers + itself, perfection, beyond earthly desire. You + recall my friend, my Conchita, who divides my + heart with you? She is married, my dear! She is + the Senora Bobadilla; her husband is noble, + rich, devoted. Young, I do not say; brilliant, + I do not pretend! Conchita is brought up in the + Spanish way, my child; she weds a Spanish + husband, as her parents provide him; it is the + custom. Now! Marguerite, they offer to take me + with them to Spain, to France, Italy, the + world's end. It is the opportunity of a + lifetime. I pine, I die for change. When you + consider that I have been a year here, without + once leaving home,--it is an eternity! I + implore my father; I weep--torrents! I clasp + his knees. I say, 'Kill me, but let me go!' No! + he is adamant. He talks about the disturbed + state of the country! Has it been ever + undisturbed? I ask you, Marguerite! Briefly, I + remain! The Bobadillas sail to-morrow, without + me. I feel that this blow has crushed me, + Marguerite. I feel my strength, never, as you + know, robust, ebbing from me. Be prepared, + Marguerite! I feel that in a few weeks I may be + gone, indeed, but not to Europe; to another and + a kinder world. The San Reals are a short-lived + race; they suffer, they die! My father will + realise one day that he might better have let + his poor Rita have her way for once, when Rita + lies shrouded in white, with lilies at her + head and feet. Adios, Marguerite! farewell, + heart of my heart! I have made my will,--my + jewels are divided between you and Peggy. Poor + Peggy! she also will mourn me. You will dry her + tears, dearest! The lamp burns low--no more! + For the last time, beloved Marguerite, + + "Your unhappy + "MARGARITA MARIA DOLORES DE + SAN REAL MONTFORT." + +"Isn't that really pretty alarming?" said Margaret, looking up. +"Why--why, Uncle John! you are laughing! Don't laugh, please! Of course +Rita is extravagant, but I am afraid she must really be very unhappy. +Stay! Here is a postscript that I did not see before. Oh! Oh, uncle! +Listen! + + "Alma mia, one word! It is morning, in the + world and in my heart. I go, Marguerite! My + maid is packing my trunk at this instant. My + father relents; he is an angel, the kindest, + the most considerate of parents. We sail + to-morrow for Gibraltar,--I shall be in Madrid + in less than a month. Marguerite, I embrace you + tenderly. Rejoice, Beloved, with your happy, + your devoted + + "RITA." + +"Thank you, my dear!" said Mr. Montfort, twirling his moustaches. "Poor +Richard! Poor old Dick! Do you know, my dear, I think Dick may have had +some experience of life." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +DOMESTIC. + + +Life was pleasant enough for Margaret Montfort, in those days. The hours +were still sad which she had been used to spend with Mrs. Cheriton, the +beloved Aunt Faith; but there was such peace and blessedness in the +thought of her, that Margaret would not have been without the gentle +sorrow. She loved to sit in the White Rooms, sometimes with her uncle, +but more often alone. In the morning, she generally walked for an hour +in the garden with Mr. Montfort, tending the rose-bushes that were his +special care and pride, listening to his wise and kindly talk, and +learning, she always thought, something new each day. It is wonderful +how much philosophy, poetry, even history, can be brought into the care +of roses, if the right person has charge of them. At ten o'clock he +generally went to town, and the rest of the morning was spent in +practising, sewing, and studying; the hours flew by so fast, Margaret +often suspected the clock of being something of a dishonest character. +She was studying German, with the delightful result of reading "Der +Trompeter von Saekkingen" with her uncle in the evening, when it was not +too beautiful out-of-doors. Then, in the afternoon, she could with a +clear conscience take up some beloved romance, and be "just happy," as +she called it, till Mr. Montfort returned in time for the walk or ride +which was the crowning pleasure of the day. And so the days went by, in +a golden peace which seemed too pleasant to last; and yet there seemed +no reason why it should ever change. + +The morning after the reading of the letters, Margaret had been in the +White Rooms, arranging flowers in the vases, and putting little loving +touches to books and cushions, as a tidy girl loves to do, whether there +is need or not. The windows were open, and the orioles were singing in +the great elm-tree, and the laburnum was a bower of gold. It seemed +really too perfect a morning to spend in the house; Margaret thought she +would take her work out into the garden, not this sunny green parlour, +but the great shady garden outside, where the box swept above her head, +and the whole air smelt of it, and of moss and ferns and a hundred other +cool things. She passed out of the rooms, and went along a passage, and +as she went she heard voices that came through an open door at one side; +clear, loud voices that she could not have escaped if she would. + +"These table-napkins is scandalous!" said Elizabeth. "I do wish Miss +Margaret would get us some new ones." + +"Why don't you ask her?" said Frances, the cook, bringing her flat-iron +down with a thump. "The table-cloths is most worn out, too, this set. +Ask her to see to some new ones. She's young, you see, and she don't +think." + +"I've been giving her one with holes in it, right along this two weeks," +said Elizabeth, "hoping she'd notice, but she don't seem to. I thought +it'd be best if she found out herself when things was needed." + +"Ah!" said Frances, "she's a sweet young lady, but she'll never make no +housekeeper. She hasn't so much as looked inside one of my closets since +Mis' Cheriton went." + +"You wouldn't be over and above pleased if she looked much into your +closets, Frances; I know that!" + +"Maybe I wouldn't, and maybe I would; but I'd like to have her know as +there was no need of her looking. Don't tell me, Elizabeth! So long as +she could walk on her feet, never a week but Mis' Cheriton would look +in, and take a peep at every shelf. 'Just for the pleasure of seeing +perfection, Frances,' she'd say, or something like that, her pretty way. +But if there had been anything _but_ perfection, I'd have heard from her +pretty quick." + +"I think you're hard to please, I do!" Elizabeth answered. "I think Miss +Margaret is as sweet a young lady as walks the earth; so thoughtful, and +afraid of giving trouble, and neat and tidy as a pin. I tell you, Mr. +Montfort's well off, and so's you and me, Frances. Why, we might have +had one of them other young ladies, and then where'd we have been?" + +"I don't know!" said Frances, significantly. "Not here, that's one sure +thing." + +"Or Mr. Montfort might have married. Fine man as he is, it's a wonder he +never has." + +"H'm! he's no such fool! Not but what there's them would be glad +enough--" + +But here Margaret, with burning cheeks, fled back to the White Rooms. It +could not be helped; she had to hear what they were saying about +herself; she must not hear what they said about her uncle. + +She sat down on the little stool that had always been her favourite +seat, and leaned her cheek against the great white chair, that would +always be empty now. + +"I wish you were here, Aunt Faith!" she said, aloud. "I am very young, +and very ignorant. I wish you were here to tell me what I should do." + +At first the women's talk seemed cruel to her. They had been here so +long, they knew the ways of the house so entirely, she had never dreamed +of advising them, any more than of advising her uncle himself. Frances +had been at Fernley twenty years, Elizabeth, twenty-five. What could she +tell them? How could she possibly know about the things that had been +their care and pride, year in and year out, since before she was born? +It seemed very strange, very unkind, that they should expect her to step +in, with her youth and ignorance, between them and their experience. So +she thought, and thought, feeling hot, and sore, and angry. She had +never had any care of housekeeping in her life. Old Katy, her nurse, who +had taken her from her dying mother's arms, had always done all that; +Margaret's part was to see that her own and her father's clothes were in +perfect order, to keep the rooms dusted, and arrange the books when she +was allowed to touch them, which was not often. As to table-cloths, she +had never thought of them in her life; Katy saw to all that; and if she +had attempted to suggest ordering dinner, Katy would have been apt to +send her to bed, Margaret thought. Poor, dear old Katy! She was dead +now, and Aunt Faith was dead, and there was no one to stand between +Margaret and the cares that she knew nothing about. Of course, Uncle +John must never know anything of it; he expected perfection, and had +always had it; he did not care how it was brought about. Surely these +women were unkind and unreasonable! What good could she possibly do by +interfering? They would not endure it if she really did interfere. + +The white linen cover of the chair was smooth and cool; Margaret pressed +her cheek against it, and a sense of comfort stole over her insensibly. +She began to turn the matter over, and try to look at the other side of +it. There always was another side; her father had taught her that when +she was a little child. Well, after all, had they really said anything +unkind? Frances's words came back to her, "I'd like to have her know as +there was no need of her looking." + +After all, was not that perfectly natural? Did not every one like to +have good work seen and recognised? Even Uncle John always called her to +see when he had made a particularly neat graft, and expected her praise +and wonderment, and was pleased with it. And why did she show him her +buttonholes this morning, except that she knew they were good +buttonholes, and wanted the kindly word that she was sure of getting? +Was the trouble with her, after all? Had she failed to remember that +Elizabeth and Frances were human beings, not machines, and that her +uncle being what he was, she herself was the only person to give them a +word of deserved praise or counsel? + +"My dear," she said to herself, "I don't want to be hasty in my +judgments, but it rather looks as if you had been a careless, selfish +goose, doesn't it now?" + +She went up to her own room,--the garden seemed too much of an +indulgence just now,--and sat down quietly with her work. Sewing was +always soothing to Margaret. She was not fond of it; she would have +read twelve hours out of the twenty-four, if she had been allowed to +choose her own way of life, and have walked or ridden four, and slept +six, and would never have thought of any time being necessary for +eating, till she felt hungry. But she had been taught to sew well and +quickly, and she had always made her own underclothes, and felled all +the seams, and a good many girls will know how much that means. She sat +sewing and thinking, planning all kinds of reforms and experiments, when +she heard Elizabeth stirring in the room next hers. It was the linen +room, and Elizabeth was putting away clean clothes, Margaret knew by the +clank of the drawer-handles. Now! this was the moment to begin. She laid +down her work, and went into the linen room. + +"May I see you put them away, Elizabeth?" she asked. "I always like to +see your piles of towels,--they are so even and smooth." + +Elizabeth looked up, and her face brightened. "And welcome, Miss +Margaret!" she said. "I'll be pleased enough. 'Tis dreadful lonesome, +and Mis' Cheriton gone. Not that she could come up here, I don't mean; +but I always knew she was there, and she was like a mother to me, and I +could always go to her. Yes, miss, the towels do look nice, and I love +to keep 'em so." + +"They are beautiful!" said Margaret, with genuine enthusiasm, for the +shelves and drawers were like those she had read about in "Soll und +Haben." She had loved them in the book, but never thought of looking at +them in reality. "Oh, what lovely damask this is, Elizabeth! It shines +like silver! I never saw such damask as this." + +"'Tis something rare, miss, I do be told," Elizabeth replied. + +"Mr. Montfort brought them towels back from Germany, three years ago, +because he thought they would please his aunt, and they did, dear lady. +Hand spun and wove they are, she said; and there's only one place where +they make this weave and this pattern. See, Miss Margaret! 'Tis roses, +coming out of a little loaf of bread like; and there was a story about +it, some saint, but I don't rightly remember what. There! I have tried +to remember that story, ever since Mis' Cheriton went, but it seems I +can't." + +"Oh, oh, it must be Saint Elizabeth of Hungary!" cried Margaret, bending +in delight over the smooth silvery stuff. "Why, how perfectly +enchanting!" + +"Yes, miss, that's it!" cried Elizabeth, beaming with pleasure. "Saint +Elizabeth it was; and maybe you'll know the story, Miss Margaret. I +never like to ask Mr. Montfort, of course, but I should love dearly to +hear it." + +Margaret asked nothing better. She told the lovely story as well as she +knew how, and before she had finished, Elizabeth's eyes as well as her +own were full of tears. One of Elizabeth's tears even fell on the towel, +and she cried out in horror, and wiped it away as if it had been a +poison-spot, and laid the sacred damask back in its place. Margaret felt +the moment given to her. + +"Elizabeth," she said, "I want to ask you something. I want to ask if +you will help me a little. Will you try?" + +Elizabeth, surprised and pleased, vowed she would do all she could for +Miss Margaret, in any way in her power. + +"You can do a great deal!" said Margaret. "I--I am very young, +Elizabeth, and--and you and Frances have been here a long time, and of +course you know all about the work of the house, and I know nothing at +all. And yet--and yet, I ought to be helping, it seems to me, and ought +to be taking my place, and my share in the work. Do you see what I mean, +Elizabeth? You and Frances could help me, oh, so much, if you would; and +perhaps some day I might be able to help you too,--I don't know just +how, yet, but it might come." + +"Oh, miss, we will be so thankful!" cried Elizabeth. "Oh, miss, Frances +and me, we'd been wishing and longing to have you speak up and take your +place, if I may say so. We didn't like to put ourselves forward, and +we've no orders from Mr. Montfort, except to do whatever you said; and +so, when you'll say anything, Miss Margaret, we feel ever and ever so +much better, Frances and me. And I'll be pleased to go all over the work +with you, Miss Margaret, this very day, and show you just how I've +always done it, and I think Mr. Montfort has been satisfied, and Mis' +Cheriton was, Lord rest her! and you so young, and with so much else to +do, as I said time and again to Frances, reading with Mr. Montfort and +riding with him, and taking such an interest in the roses, as his own +daughter couldn't make him happier if he had one. And of course it's +nature that you haven't had no time yet to take much notice, but it +makes it twice as easy for servants, Miss Margaret, where an interest is +took; and I'm thankful to you, I'm sure, and so will Frances be, and +you'll find her closets a pleasure to look at." + +Elizabeth stopped to draw breath, and Margaret looked at her in wonder +and self-reproach. The grave, staid woman was all alight with pleasure +and the prospect of sympathy. It came over Margaret that, comfortable +and homelike as their life at Fernley was, it was not perhaps exactly +thrilling. + +"We will be friends, Elizabeth!" she said, simply; and the two shook +hands, with an earnestness that meant something. "And you are to come +to me, please, whenever there is anything that needs attention, +Elizabeth, and I will do my best, and ask your advice about anything I +don't understand. Don't--don't we--need some new napkins, Elizabeth?" + +Elizabeth was eloquent as to their need of napkins. In a couple of +washes more, there would be nothing but holes left to wipe their hands +on. + +"Then I'll order some this very day," said Margaret. "Or better still, +I'll go to town with Uncle John to-morrow, and get them myself. And now, +Elizabeth, I am going down to see Frances, and--and perhaps--do you +think she would like it if I ordered dinner, Elizabeth?" + +"Miss Margaret, she'd be pleased to death!" cried Elizabeth. + +Returning from the kitchen an hour later, a sadder and a wiser girl (for +Frances's perfection seemed unattainable by ordinary mortals, even with +the aid of Sapolio), Margaret heard the sound of wheels on the gravel +outside. Glancing through the window of the long passage through which +she was going, she saw, to her amazement, a carriage standing at the +door, a carriage that had evidently come some way, for it was covered +with dust. The driver was taking down a couple of trunks, and beside the +carriage stood a lady, with her purse in her hand. + +"I shall give you two dollars!" the lady was saying, in a thin, sharp +voice. "I consider that ample for the distance you have come." + +"I told the gentleman it would be three dollars, mum!" said the man, +civilly, touching his hat. "Three dollars is the regular price, with one +trunk, and these trunks is mortal heavy. The gentleman said as it would +be all right, mum." + +"The gentleman knew nothing whatever about it," said the sharp-voiced +lady. "I shall give you two dollars, and not a penny more. I have always +paid two dollars to drive to Fernley, and I have no idea of being +cheated now, I assure you." + +The man was still grumbling, when Elizabeth opened the door. She looked +grave, but greeted the newcomer with a respectful curtsey. + +"Oh, how do you do, Elizabeth!" said the strange lady. "How is Mr. +Montfort?" + +"Mr. Montfort is very well, thank you, mum!" said Elizabeth. "He is in +town, mum. He'll hardly be back before evening. Would you like to see +Miss Montfort?" + +"Miss Montfort? Oh, the little girl who is staying here. You needn't +trouble to call her just now, Elizabeth. Send for Willis, will you, and +have him take my trunks in; I have come to stay. He may put them in the +White Rooms." + +"I--I beg pardon, mum!" faltered Elizabeth. "In the Blue Room, did you +say? The Blue Room has been new done over, and that is where we have put +visitors lately." + +"Nothing of the sort!" said the lady, sharply. "I said the White Rooms; +Mrs. Cheriton's rooms." + +Margaret stayed to hear no more. A stranger in the White Rooms! Aunt +Faith's rooms, which she could not bear to occupy herself, though her +uncle had urged her to do so? And such a stranger as this, with such a +voice,--and such a nose! Never! never, while there was breath to pant +with, while there were feet to run with! + +Never but once in her life had Margaret Montfort run as she did now; +that once was when she flew up the secret staircase to save her cousin +from burning. In a flash she was in her own room--what had been her +room!--gathering things frantically in her arms, snatching books from +the table, dresses from the closets. Down the back stairs she ran like a +whirlwind; down, and up, and down again. Had the girl gone suddenly mad? + +Ten minutes later, when Elizabeth, her eyes smarting with angry tears, +opened the door of the White Parlour,--Willis the choreman behind her, +grunting and growling, with a trunk on his shoulder,--a young lady was +sitting in the great white armchair, quietly reading. The young lady's +cheeks were crimson, her eyes were sparkling, and her breath came in +short, quick gasps, which showed that what she was reading must be very +exciting; what made it the more curious was that the book was upside +down. But she was entirely composed, and evidently surprised at the +sudden intrusion. + +"What is it, Elizabeth?" asked Margaret, quietly. + +"I--I--I beg your pardon, Miss Montfort!" said Elizabeth, whose eyes +were beginning to brighten, too, and her lips to twitch dangerously. +"I--I didn't know, miss, as you had--moved in yet. Here is Miss +Sophronia Montfort, miss, as perhaps you would like to see her." + +The strange lady was already glaring over Willis's shoulder. + +"What is this?" she said. "What does this mean? These rooms are not +occupied; I was positively told they were not occupied. There must be +some mistake. Willis--" + +"Yes, there is a mistake!" said Margaret, coming forward, and holding +out her hand with a smile. "Is this Cousin Sophronia? I am Margaret, +Cousin Sophronia. Uncle John asked me to take these rooms, and I--I feel +quite at home in them already. Would you like the Pink, or the Blue +Room? They are both ready, aren't they, Elizabeth?" + +"Yes, Miss Montfort," said Elizabeth, "quite ready." + +The strange lady's eyes glared wider and wider; her chest heaved; she +seemed about to break out in a torrent of angry speech; but making a +visible effort, she controlled herself. "How do you do, my--my dear?" +she said, taking Margaret's offered hand, and giving it a little pinch +with the tips of her fingers. "I--a little misunderstanding, no doubt. +Willis,--the Blue Room,--for the present!" But Willis was suffering from +a sudden and violent fit of coughing, which shook his whole frame, and +made it necessary for him to rest his trunk against the wall and lean +against it, with his head down; so that it was fully five minutes before +Miss Sophronia Montfort's trunk got up to the Blue Room. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE UNEXPECTED. + + +When Mr. Montfort came home that afternoon, Margaret was waiting for +him, as usual, on the verandah; as usual, for she was determined to keep +the worry out of her face and out of her voice. But as her uncle came up +the steps, with his cheery "Well! and how's my lassie?" he was +confronted by Miss Sophronia Montfort, who, passing Margaret swiftly, +advanced with both hands held out, and a beaming smile. + +"My dearest John! my poor, dear fellow! Confess that I have surprised +you. Confess it, John!--you did not expect to see me." + +"Sophronia!" exclaimed Mr. Montfort. He stood still and contemplated the +visitor for a moment; then he shook hands with her, rather formally. + +"You certainly have surprised me, Sophronia!" he said, kindly enough. +"What wind has blown you in this direction?" + +"The wind of affection, my dear boy!" cried the strange lady. "I have +been planning it, ever since I heard of Aunt Faith's death. Dearest Aunt +Faith! What a loss, John! what an irreparable loss! I shall never +recover from the shock. The moment I heard of it, I said--William would +tell you, if he were here--I said, 'I must go to John! He will need me +now,' I said, 'and go I must.' I explained to William that I felt it as +a solemn duty. He took it beautifully, poor, dear fellow. I don't know +how they will get on without me, for his wife is sadly heedless, John, +and the children need a steady hand, they do indeed. But he did not try +to keep me back; indeed, he urged me to come, which showed such a +beautiful spirit, didn't it? And so here I am, my dearest boy, come to +take Aunt Faith's place, and make a home for you, my poor lonely cousin. +You know I have always loved you as a sister, John, and you must +consider me a real sister now; sister Sophronia, dear John!" + +The lady paused for breath, and gazed tenderly on Mr. Montfort; that +gentleman returned her gaze with one of steady gravity. + +"I shall be glad to have a visit from you, Sophronia," he said. "I have +no doubt we can make you comfortable for a few weeks; I can hardly +suppose that William can spare you longer than that. We have no children +here to need your--your ministrations." + +The lady shook her head playfully; she had thin curls of a grayish +yellow, which almost rattled when she shook her head. + +"Always self-denying, John!" she cried. "The same unselfish, good, +sterling fellow! But I understand, my friend; I know how it really is, +and I shall do my duty, and stand by you; depend upon that! And this +dear child, too!" she added, turning to Margaret and taking her hand +affectionately. "So young, so unexperienced! and to be attempting the +care of a house like Fernley! How could you think of it, John? But we +will make that all right. I shall be--we can hardly say a mother, can +we, my dear? but an elder sister, to you, too. Oh, we shall be very +happy, I am sure. The drawing-room carpets are looking very shabby, +John. I am ready to go over the dear old house from top to bottom, and +make it over new; of course you did not feel like making any changes +while dear Aunt Faith was with you. Such a mistake, I always say, to +shake the aged out of their ruts. Yes! so wise of you! and who is in the +neighbourhood, John?" + +"I hardly know," said Mr. Montfort. "You know I live rather a hermit +life, Sophronia. Mrs. Peyton is here; I believe you are fond of her." + +"Sweet Emily Peyton!" exclaimed Miss Sophronia, with enthusiasm. "Is +that exquisite creature here? That will indeed be a pleasure. Ah, John, +she should never have been Emily Peyton; you know my opinion on that +point." She nodded her head several times, with an air of mysterious +understanding. "And widowed, after all, and once more alone in the +world. How does she bear her sorrow, John?" + +"I have not seen her," said Mr. Montfort, rather shortly. "From what I +hear, she seems to bear it with considerable fortitude. Perhaps you +forget that it is fully ten years since Mr. Peyton died, Sophronia. But +Margaret here can tell you more than I can about Mrs. Peyton; she goes +to see her now and then. Mrs. Peyton is something of an invalid, and +likes to have her come." + +"Indeed!" cried Miss Sophronia. "I should hardly have fancied--Emily +Peyton was always so mature in her thought, so critical in her +observations; but no doubt she is lonely, and glad of any society; and +sweet Margaret is most sympathetic, I am sure. Sympathy, my dear John! +how could we live without it, my poor dear fellow?" + +"I am going to walk," said Mr. Montfort, abruptly. "Margaret, will you +come? Sophronia, you will be glad of a chance to rest; you must be tired +after your long drive." + +"This once, yes, dearest John!" said the lady. "This once you must go +without me. I am tired,--so thoughtful of you to notice it! There is no +sofa in the Blue Room, but I shall do very well there for a few days. +Don't have me on your mind in the least, my dear cousin; I shall soon +be absolutely at home. Enjoy your walk, both of you! After to-day, I +shall always be with you, I hope. I ordered tea an hour earlier, as I +dined early, and I knew you would not mind. Good-bye!" and the lady +nodded, and smiled herself into the house. + +Margaret went for her hat in silence, and in silence she and her uncle +walked along. Mr. Montfort was smoking, not in his usual calm and +dignified manner, but in short, fierce puffs; smoking fast and +violently. Margaret did not dare to speak, and they walked a mile or +more without exchanging a word. + +"Margaret," said her uncle, at last. + +"Yes, Uncle John." + +"Not in the least, my dear!" + +"No, Uncle John." + +They walked another mile, and presently stopped at the top of a breezy +hill, to draw breath, and look about them. The sun was going down in a +cheerful blaze; the whole country smiled, and was glad of its own +beauty. Mr. Montfort gazed about him, and heaved a long sigh of +content. + +"Pretty! Pretty country!" he said. "Spreading fields, quiet woods, sky +over all, undisturbed. Yes! You are very silent, my dear. Have I been +silent, too, or have I been talking?" + +"What a curious question!" thought Margaret. + +"You--you have not said much, Uncle John," she replied. + +"Well, my love, that may be because there isn't much to say. Some +situations, Margaret, are best met in silence." + +Margaret nodded. She knew her uncle's ways pretty well by this time. + +"And yet," continued Mr. Montfort, "it may be well to have just a word +of understanding with you, my dear child. Sophronia Montfort is my own +cousin, my first cousin." + +"Yes, Uncle John," said Margaret, as he seemed to pause for a reply. + +"Ri tumpty,--that is to say, there is no gainsaying that fact,--my own +cousin. And by natural consequence, Margaret, the own cousin of your +father, and by further consequence, your first cousin once removed. It +is--a--it is many years since she has been at Fernley; we must try to +make her comfortable during the time--the short time--she is with us. +You have put her in the Blue Room; that is comfortable, is it, and +properly fitted up,--all the modern inconveniences and abominations, +eh?" + +Mr. Montfort's own room had a bare floor, a bed, a table, a chest of +drawers, and a pitcher and basin and bath that might have been made for +Cormoran or Blunderbore, whichever was the bigger. + +"Everything, I think, uncle," faltered Margaret, turning crimson, and +beginning to tremble. "Oh! Oh, Uncle John! I have something to tell you. +I--I don't know how to tell you." + +"Don't try, then, my dear," said Uncle John, in his own kind way. +"Perhaps it isn't necessary." + +"Oh, yes, it is necessary. I shall have no peace till I do, uncle,--you +remember you asked me to take the White Rooms; you surely asked me, +didn't you?" + +"Surely, my child," said Mr. Montfort, wondering much. "But I wished +you to do as you pleased, you know." + +"Yes! Oh, uncle, that was it! When Cousin Sophronia came, she--she told +Elizabeth to have her trunks carried into the White Rooms." + +"So!" said Mr. Montfort. + +"Yes, uncle! I was in the passage, and heard her give the order, and +I--I could not bear it, Uncle John, I could not, indeed. I flew +up-stairs, and brought down some of my things,--all I could carry in two +trips,--and, when they came in with the trunk, I--I was sitting there, +and--and wondering why they came into my room. Uncle John, do you see? +Was it very, very wicked?" + +For all reply, Mr. Montfort went off into a fit of laughter so prolonged +and violent, that Margaret, who at first tried to join in timidly, +became alarmed for him. "Ho! ho! ho!" he laughed, throwing his head +back, and expanding his broad chest. "Ha! ha! ha! so you--ho! ho!--you +got in first, little miss! Why wasn't I there to see? Oh, why wasn't I +there? I would give a farm, a good farm, to have seen Sophronia's face. +Tell me about it again, Margaret. Tell me slowly, so that I may see it +all. You have a knack of description, I know; show me the scene." + +Slowly, half frightened, and wholly relieved, Margaret went through the +matter from beginning to end, making as light as she could of her own +triumph, of which she really felt ashamed, pleased as she was to have +achieved it. When she had finished, her uncle sat down under a tree, and +laughed again; not so violently, but with a hearty enjoyment that took +in every detail. + +"And Willis had a fit of coughing!" he exclaimed, when Margaret had come +to the last word. "Poor Willis! Willis must see a doctor at once. +Consumptive, no doubt; and concealed under such a deceptive appearance +of brawn! Ho! Margaret, my dear, I feel better, much better. You have +cleared the air for me, my child." + +"You--are not angry, then, Uncle John? You don't think I ought to have +put Cousin Sophronia in the rooms?" + +"My love, they should have been burned to the ground sooner. There was +only one person in the world whom your Aunt Faith could not endure, and +that person was Sophronia Montfort. You did perfectly right, Margaret; +more right than you knew. If she had got into the White Rooms, I should +have been under the necessity of taking her forcibly out of them +(nothing short of force could have done it), and that would have created +an unpleasantness, you see. Yes! Thank you, my dear little girl! I feel +quite myself again. We shall worry through, somehow; but remember, +Margaret, that you are the mistress of Fernley, and, if you have any +trouble, come to me. And now, my love, we must go home to tea!" + +When the gong rang for tea, Margaret and her uncle entered the +dining-room together--to find Cousin Sophronia already seated at the +head of the table, rattling the teacups with intention. + +"Well, my dears!" she cried, in sprightly tones. "You walked further +than you intended, did you not? I should not have sat down without you, +but I was simply famished. I always think punctuality such an important +factor in the economy of life. It is high time you had some steady head +to look after you, John!" and she shook her head in affectionate +playfulness. "Sit down, John!" + +Mr. Montfort did not sit down. + +"I am sorry you were hungry, Sophronia," he said, kindly. "I cannot +think of letting you wait to pour tea for me, my dear cousin. Margaret +does that always; you are to sit here by me, and begin at once upon your +own supper. Allow me!" + +Margaret hardly knew how it was done. There was a bow, a courtly wave of +the hand, a movement of chairs; and her own place was vacant, and Cousin +Sophronia was sitting at the side place, very red in the face, her eyes +snapping out little green lights; and Uncle John was bending over her +with cordial kindness, pushing her chair in a little further, and +lifting the train of her dress out of the way. With downcast eyes, +Margaret took her place, and poured the tea in silence. She felt as if a +weight were on her eyelids; she could not lift her eyes; she could not +speak, and yet she must. She shook herself, and made a great effort. + +"How do you like your tea, Cousin Sophronia?" she asked, in a voice that +tried to sound cheerful and unconcerned. And, when she had spoken, she +managed, with another effort, to look up. Cousin Sophronia was smiling +and composed, and met her timid glance with an affectionate nod. + +"Weak, my dear, if you please,--weak, with cream and sugar. Yes,--that +will be excellent, I have no doubt. I have to be a little exact about my +tea, my nerves being what they are. The nights I have, if my tea is not +precisely the right shade! It seems absurd, but life is made up of +little things, my dear John. And very right and wise, to have the dear +child learn to do these things, and practise on us, even if it is a +little trying at first. Is that the beef tea, Elizabeth? Thank you. I +told Frances to make me some beef tea, John; I knew hers could be +depended on, though I suppose she has grown rusty in a good many ways, +with this hermit life of yours,--so bad for a cook, I always think. +Yes, this is fair, but not quite what I should have expected from +Frances. I must see her in the morning, and give her a good rousing; we +all need a good rousing once in awhile. Frances and I have always been +the best of friends; we shall get on perfectly, I have no doubt. Ah! The +old silver looks well, John. Where did that sugar-bowl come from? Is it +Montfort, or Paston? Paston, I fancy! The Montfort silver is heavier, +eh?" + +"Possibly!" said Mr. Montfort. "That sugar-bowl is neither one nor the +other, however. It is Dutch." + +"Really! Vanderdecken? I didn't know you had any Vanderdecken silver, +John. Grandmother Vanderdecken left all her silver, I thought, to our +branch. Such a mistake, I always think, to scatter family silver. Let +each branch have _all_ that belongs to it, I always say. I feel very +strongly about it." + +"This is not Vanderdecken," said Mr. Montfort, patiently. "I bought it +in Amsterdam." + +"Oh! in Amsterdam! indeed! boughten silver never appeals to me. And +speaking of silver, I have wished for years that I could find a trace of +the old Vanderdecken porringer. You remember it, surely, John, at +Grandmother Vanderdecken's? She had her plum porridge in it every night, +and I used to play with the cow on the cover. I have tried and tried to +trace it, but have never succeeded. Stolen, I fear, by some dishonest +servant." + +"I beg your pardon, Cousin Sophronia," said Margaret, blushing. "I have +the old Vanderdecken porringer, if it is the one with the cow on the +cover." + +"_You!_" cried Miss Sophronia, opening her eyes to their fullest extent. + +"Yes," Margaret replied. "There it is, on the sideboard. I have eaten +bread and milk out of it ever since I can remember, and I still use it +at breakfast." + +Speechless for the moment, Miss Sophronia made an imperious sign to +Elizabeth, who brought her the beautiful old dish, not without a glance +of conscious pride at the wonderful blue polish on it. There was no +piece of plate in the house that took so perfect a polish as this. + +Miss Sophronia turned it over and over. Her eyes were very green. +"Margaret Bleecker. On the occasion of her christening, from her +godmother," she read. "Yes, this is certainly the Vanderdecken +porringer. And may I ask how you came by it, my dear?" + +"Certainly, Cousin Sophronia. Aunt Eliza Vanderdecken gave it to me at +my christening; she was my godmother, you see." + +"A most extraordinary thing for Eliza Vanderdecken to do!" cried the +lady. "Eliza Vanderdecken knew, of course, that she was meant to have +but a life-interest in the personal property, as she never married. I +cannot understand Eliza's doing such a thing. I have longed all my life +for this porringer; I have associations with it, you see, lifelong +associations. I remember my Grandmother Vanderdecken distinctly; you +never saw her, of course, as she died years before you were born." + +"Yes," said Margaret, gently, but not without intention. "And I, Cousin +Sophronia, associate it with Aunt Eliza, whom I remember distinctly, and +who was my godmother, and very kind to me. I value this porringer more +than almost any of my possessions. Thank you, Elizabeth; if you would +put it back, please. Will you have some more tea, Cousin Sophronia?" + +"Let me give you another bit of chicken, Sophronia!" said Mr. Montfort, +heartily. "I think we have had enough about porringers, haven't we? +There are six or seven, I believe, in the strong closet. One of 'em was +Adam's, I've always been told. A little gravy, Sophronia? You're eating +nothing." + +"I have no appetite!" said Miss Sophronia. "You know I only eat to +support life, John. A side-bone, then, if you insist, and a tiny bit of +the breast. William always says, 'You must live,' and I suppose I must. +Cranberry sauce! Thank you! I am really too exhausted to enjoy a morsel, +but I will make an effort. We _can_ do what we _try_ to do, I always +say. Thank you, dearest John. I dare say I shall be better to-morrow." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE TRIALS OF MARGARET. + + +Margaret woke early the next morning, and lay wondering where she was. +Her eyes were used to opening on rose-flowered walls and mahogany +bed-posts. Here all was soft and white, no spot of colour anywhere. She +came to herself with a start, and yesterday with its happenings came +back to her. She sighed, and a little worried wrinkle came on her smooth +forehead. What a change, in a few short hours! Was all their peaceful, +dreamy life over, the life that suited both her and her uncle so +absolutely? They had been so happy! Was it over indeed? It seemed at +first as if she could not get up and face the cares of the day, under +the new conditions. Indolent by nature, Margaret dreaded change, and +above change unpleasantness; it seemed as if she might have plenty of +both. She rose and dressed in a despondent mood; but when her hair was +pinned up and her collar straight, she took herself to task. "I give you +three minutes!" she said, looking at herself in the glass. "If you can't +look cheerful by that time, you can go to bed again." + +[Illustration: "AFTERWARDS SHE SALLIED OUT INTO THE GARDEN."] + +The threat, or something else, carried the point, for it was an entirely +cheerful young woman who came into the library, with a rose for Uncle +John's buttonhole. Miss Montfort was already there, and responded with +sad sprightliness to Margaret's greeting. "Thank you, my dear! I was +just telling your uncle, it is a mere matter of form to ask if I have +slept. I seldom sleep, especially if I am up-stairs. The servants over +my head, it may be,--or if not that, I have the feeling of +insecurity,--stairs, you understand, in case of fire. Dear William had +my rooms fitted up on the ground floor. 'Sophronia,' he said, 'you must +sleep!' I suppose it is necessary, but I am so used to lying awake. Such +frightful noises in the walls, my dear John! Rats, I suppose? Has the +wainscoting been examined lately, in the room you have put me in? Not +that it matters in the least; I am the person in the world most easily +suited, I suppose. A cot, a corner, a crust, as William says, and I am +satisfied." + +It took several crusts to satisfy Miss Sophronia at breakfast. +Afterwards she sallied out into the garden, where Mr. Montfort was +enjoying his morning cigar, with Margaret at his side. "You dear child," +said the sprightly lady, "run now and amuse yourself, or attend to any +little duties you may have set yourself. So important, I always say, for +the young to be regular in everything they do. I am sure you agree with +me, dearest John. I will be your uncle's companion, my love; that is my +duty and my pleasure now. I must see your roses, John! No one in the +world loves roses as I do. What do you use for them? I have a recipe for +an infallible wash; I must give it to you, I must indeed." + +Margaret went into the house; there was no place for her, for the lady +was leaning on Mr. Montfort's arm, chattering gaily in his ear. Margaret +was conscious of an unpleasant sensation which was entirely new to her. +She had always been with people she liked. Rita had often distressed +her, but still she was most lovable, with all her faults. Cousin +Sophronia was--not--lovable, the girl said to herself. + +It was a relief to visit the kitchen, and find Frances beaming over her +bread-pan. The good woman hailed Margaret with delight, and received her +timid suggestions as to dinner with enthusiasm. + +"Yes, Miss Margaret, I do think as a chicken-pie would be the very +thing. I've a couple of fowl in the house now, and what would you think +of putting in a bit of ham, miss?" + +"Oh!" said Margaret. "Is that what you usually do, Frances? Then I am +sure it will be just right. And about a pudding; what do you think, +Frances? You know so many kinds of puddings, and they are all so good!" + +Well, Frances had been thinking that if Miss Margaret should fancy +apple-fritters, Mr. Montfort was fond of them, and they had not had them +this month. And lemon-juice with them, or a little sugar and wine; which +did Miss Margaret think would be best? This was a delightful way of +keeping house; and after praising the bread, which was rising white and +light in the great pan, and poking the bubbles with her little finger, +and begging that she might be allowed to mix it some day soon, Margaret +went back in a better humour to the White Rooms, and sat down resolutely +to her buttonholes. There would be no walk this morning, evidently; +well, when she had done her hour's stint, she would go for a little +stroll by herself. After all, perhaps Uncle John would, when the +strangeness had worn off a little, enjoy having some one of his own age +to talk to; of course she was very young, too young to be much of a +companion. Still,-- + +Well, she would be cheerful and patient, and try to make things pleasant +so far as she could. And now she could only go and wish Uncle John +good-bye when he started for town, and perhaps walk to the station with +him, if he was going to walk. + +While she sat sewing, glancing at the clock from time to time, Cousin +Sophronia came in, work-bag in hand. + +"He is gone!" she said, cheerfully. "I saw him off at the gate. Dearest +John! Excellent, sterling John Montfort! Such a pleasure to be with him! +Such a joy to feel that I can make a home for him!" + +"Gone!" echoed Margaret, looking up in dismay. "Why, surely it is not +train time!" + +"An early train, my love," the lady explained. "Your dear uncle felt +obliged to start an hour earlier than usual, he explained to me. These +busy men! And how are you occupying yourself, my dear? Ah! buttonholes? +Most necessary! But, my love, you are working these the wrong way!" + +"No, I think not," said Margaret. "This is the way I have always made +them, Cousin Sophronia." + +"Wrong, my dear! Quite wrong, I assure you. Impossible to get a smooth +edge if you work them that way. Let me--h'm! yes! that is fairly even, I +confess; but the other way is the correct one, you must take my word for +it; and I will show you how, with pleasure. So important, I always say, +to do things just as they should be done!" + +In vain Margaret protested that she understood the other way, but +preferred this. She finally, for quiet's sake, yielded, and pricked her +fingers, and made herself hot and cross, working the wrong way. + +Miss Sophronia next began to cross-question her about Mrs. Cheriton's +last days. Such a saintly woman! Austere, some thought; perhaps not +always charitable-- + +"Oh!" cried Margaret, indignant. "Cousin Sophronia, you cannot have +known Aunt Faith at all. She was the very soul of charity; and as for +being austere--but it is evident you did not know her." She tried to +keep down her rising temper, with thoughts of the sweet, serene eyes +that had never met hers without a look of love. + +"I knew her before you were born, my dear!" said Miss Sophronia, with a +slightly acid smile. "Oh, yes, I was intimately acquainted with dear +Aunt Faith. I have never thought it right to be blind to people's little +failings, no matter how much we love them. I always tell my brother +William, 'William, do not ask me to be blind! Ask me, expect me, to be +indulgent, to be devoted, to be self-sacrificing,--but not blind; +blindness is contrary to my nature, and you must not expect it.' Yes! +And--what was done with the clothes, my dear?" + +"The clothes?" echoed Margaret. "Aunt Faith's clothes, do you mean, +Cousin Sophronia?" + +"No. I meant the Montfort clothes; the heirlooms, my dear. But perhaps +you never saw them?" + +"Oh, yes, I have seen them often," said Margaret. "They are in the cedar +chest, Cousin Sophronia, where they have always been. It is in the deep +closet there," she nodded towards an alcove at the other end of the +room. + +Miss Sophronia rose with alacrity. "Ah! I think I will look them over. +Very valuable, some of those clothes are; quite unsuitable, I have +thought for some years, to have them under the charge of an aged person, +who could not in the course of nature be expected to see to them +properly. I fear I shall find them in a sad condition." + +Her hand was already on the door, when Margaret was able to speak. +"Excuse me, Cousin Sophronia; the chest is locked." + +"Very proper! Entirely proper!" cried the lady. "And you have the key? +That will not do, will it, my love? Too heavy for these dear young +shoulders, such a weight of responsibility! I will take entire charge of +this; not a word! It will be a pleasure! Where is the key, did you say, +love?" + +"Uncle John has the key!" said Margaret, quietly; and blamed herself +severely for the pleasure she felt in saying it. + +"Oh!" Miss Montfort paused, her hand on the door; for a moment she +seemed at a loss; but she went on again. + +"Right, Margaret! Very right, my love! You felt yourself, or your uncle +felt for you, the unfitness of your having charge of such valuables. +Ahem! I--no doubt dear John will give me the key, as soon as I mention +it. I--I shall not speak of it at once; there is no hurry--except for +the danger of moth. An old house like Fernley is always riddled with +moth. I fear the clothes must be quite eaten away with them. Such a sad +pity! The accumulation of generations!" + +Margaret hastened to assure her that the clothes were looked over +regularly once a month, and that no sign of moths had ever been found in +them. Miss Sophronia sighed and shook her head, and crocheted for some +minutes in silence; she was making a brown and yellow shoulder-shawl. +Margaret thought she had never seen a shawl so ugly. + +"Has Cousin William Montfort any daughters?" she asked, presently, +thinking it her turn to bear some of the burden of entertainment. + +"Four, my dear!" was the prompt reply. "Sweet girls! young, heedless, +perhaps not always considerate; but the sweetest girls in the world. +Amelia is just your age; what a companion she would be for you! Dear +Margaret! I must write to William, I positively must, and suggest his +asking you for a good long visit. Such a pleasure for you and for +Amelia! Not a word, my dear! I shall consider it a duty, a positive +duty! Amelia is thought to resemble me in many ways; she is the image +of what I was at her age. I am forming her; her mother is something of +an invalid, as I think I have told you. The older girls are away from +home just now,--they make a good many visits; I am always there, and +they feel that they can go. If they were at home, I should beg dear John +Montfort to invite Amelia here; such a pleasure for him, to have young +life in the house. But as it is, William must ask you. Consider it +settled, my love. A--what was done with Aunt Faith's jewels, my dear? +She had some fine pearls, I remember. Vanderdecken pearls they were +originally; I should hardly suppose Aunt Faith would have felt that she +had more than a life interest in them. And the great amethyst necklace; +did she ever show you her jewels, my love?" + +Margaret blushed, and braced herself to meet the shock. "I have them, +Cousin Sophronia!" she said, meekly. "Aunt Faith wanted me to have all +her jewels, and she gave them to me before--before she died." Her voice +failed, and the tears rushed to her eyes. She was thinking of the frail, +white-clad figure bending over the ancient jewel-box, and taking out +the pearls. She heard the soft voice saying, "Your great-grandmother's +pearls, my Margaret; they are yours now. Wear them for me, and let me +have the pleasure of seeing them on your neck. You are my pearl, +Margaret; the only pearl I care for now." Dear, dearest Aunt Faith. Why +was she not here? + +Before Miss Sophronia could recover her power of speech, a knock came at +the door. + +"I beg your pardon, Miss Margaret!" said Elizabeth, putting her head in, +in answer to Margaret's "Come in!" "The butcher is here, miss, and +Frances thought perhaps, would you come out and see him, miss?" + +"Certainly!" said Margaret, rising; but Miss Sophronia was too quick for +her. + +"In a moment!" she cried, cheerfully. "Tell Frances I will be there in a +moment, Elizabeth! Altogether too much for you, dear Margaret, to have +so much care. _I_ cannot have too much care! It is what I live for; give +the household matters no further thought, I beg of you. You might be +setting your bureau drawers in order, if you like, while I am seeing +the butcher; I always look over Amelia's drawers once a week--" + +She glided away, leaving Margaret white with anger. How was she to +endure this? She was nearly eighteen; she had taken care of herself ever +since she was seven, and had attained, or so she fancied, perfection, in +the matter of bureau-drawers, at the age of twelve. To have her precious +arrangements looked over, her boxes opened, her--oh, there could be, +there _was_ no reason why she should submit to this! She locked the +drawers quietly, one after the other, and put the key in her pocket. She +would be respectful; she would be civil always, and cordial when she +could, but she would not be imposed upon. + +By the time Miss Sophronia came back, Margaret was composed, and greeted +her cousin with a pleasant smile; but this time it was the lady who was +agitated. She came hurrying in, her face red, her air perturbed. +"Insufferable!" she cried, as soon as the door was closed. "Margaret, +that woman is insufferable! She must leave at once." + +"Woman! what woman, Cousin Sophronia?" asked Margaret, looking up in +amazement. + +"That Frances! She--why, she is impertinent, Margaret. She insulted me; +insulted me grossly. I shall speak to John Montfort directly he returns. +She must go; I cannot stay in the house with her." + +Go! Frances, who had been at Fernley twenty years; for whom the new +kitchen, now only fifteen years old, had been planned and arranged! +Margaret was struck dumb for a moment; but recovering herself, she tried +to soothe the angry lady, assuring her that Frances could not have meant +to be disrespectful; that she had a quick temper, but was so good and +faithful, and so attached to Uncle John; and so on. In another moment, +to her great discomfiture, Miss Sophronia burst into tears, declared +that she was alone in the world, that no one loved her or wanted her, +and that she was the most unhappy of women. Filled with remorseful pity, +Margaret bent over her, begging her not to cry. She brought a +smelling-bottle, and Miss Sophronia clutched it, sobbing, and told +Margaret she was an angelic child. "This--this is--a Vanderdecken +vinaigrette!" she said, between her sobs. "Did Eliza Vanderdecken give +you this, too? Very singular of Eliza! But she never had any sense of +fitness. Thank you my dear! I suffer--no living creature knows what I +suffer with my nerves. I--shall be better soon. Don't mind anything I +said; I must suffer, but it shall always be in silence, I always +maintain that. No one shall know; I never speak of it; I am the grave, +for silence. Do not--do not tell your uncle, Margaret, how you have seen +me suffer. Do not betray my momentary weakness!" + +"Certainly not!" said Margaret, heartily. "I will not say a word, Cousin +Sophronia, of course!" + +"He would wish to know!" said Miss Sophronia, smothering a sob into a +sigh. "John Montfort would be furious if he thought I was ill-treated, +and we were concealing it from him. He is a lion when once roused. Ah! I +should be sorry for that woman. But forgiveness is a duty, my dear, and +I forgive. See! I am myself again. Quite--" with a hysterical +giggle--"quite myself! I--I will take the vinaigrette to my room with +me, I think, my dear. Thank you! Dear Margaret! cherub child! how you +have comforted me!" She went, and Margaret heard her sniffing along the +entry; heard, and told herself she had no business to notice such +things; and went back rather ruefully to her buttonholes. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +A NEW TYPE. + + +"My child, I thought you were never coming again!" said Mrs. Peyton. "Do +you know that it is a week since I have seen you? I have been +destroyed,--positively destroyed, with solitude." + +"I am so sorry," said Margaret. "I could not come before; truly I could +not, Mrs. Peyton. And how have you been?" + +Mrs. Peyton leaned back on her pillows, with a little laugh. "Who cares +how I have been?" she said, lightly. "What does it matter how I have +been? Tell me some news, Margaret. I must have news. You are alive, you +move, and have your being; tell me something that will make me feel +alive, too." + +Margaret looked at the lady, and thought she looked very much alive. She +was a vision of rose colour, from the silk jacket fluttering with +ribbons, to the pink satin that shimmered through the lace bed-spread. +The rosy colour almost tinted her cheeks, which were generally the hue +of warm ivory. Her hair, like crisped threads of gold, was brought down +low on her forehead, hiding any lines that might have been seen there; +it was crowned by a bit of cobweb lace, that seemed too slight to +support the pink ribbon that held it together. The lady's hands were +small, and exquisitely formed, and she wore several rings of great +value; her eyes were blue and limpid, her features delicate and regular. +Evidently, this had been a great beauty. To Margaret, gazing at her in +honest admiration, she was still one of the most beautiful creatures +that could be seen. + +Mrs. Peyton laughed under the girl's simple look of pleasure. "You like +my new jacket?" she said. "The doctor never so much as noticed it this +morning. I think I shall send him away, and get another, who has eyes in +his head. You are the only person who really cares for my clothes, +Margaret, and they are the only interest I have in the world." + +"I wish you wouldn't talk so!" said Margaret, colouring. "You don't mean +it, and why will you say it?" + +"I do mean it!" said the beautiful lady. "I mean every word of it. +There's nothing else to care for, except you, you dear little +old-fashioned thing. I like you, because you are quaint and truthful. +Have you seen my pink pearl? You are not half observant, that's the +trouble with you, Margaret Montfort." + +She held out her slender hand; Margaret took it, and bent over it +affectionately. "Oh, what a beautiful ring!" she cried. "I never saw a +pink pearl like this before, Mrs. Peyton, so brilliant, and such a deep +rose colour. Isn't it very wonderful?" + +"The jeweller thought so," said Mrs. Peyton. "He asked enough for it; it +might have been the companion to Cleopatra's. The opal setting is +pretty, too, don't you think? And I have some new stones. You will like +to see those." + +She took up a small bag of chamois leather, that lay on the bed beside +her, opened it, and a handful of precious stones rolled out on the lace +spread. Margaret caught after one and another in alarm. "Oh! Oh, Mrs. +Peyton, they frighten me! Why, this diamond--I never saw such a diamond. +It's as big as a pea." + +"Imperfect!" said the lady. "A flaw in it, you see; but the colour is +good, and it does just as well for a plaything, though I don't like +flawed things, as a rule. This sapphire is a good one,--deep, you see; I +like a deep sapphire." + +"This light one is nearer your eyes," said Margaret, taking up a lovely +clear blue stone. + +"Flatterer! People used to say that once; a long time ago. Heigh ho, +Margaret, don't ever grow old! Take poison, or throw yourself out of the +window, but don't grow old. It's a shocking thing to do." + +Margaret looked at her friend with troubled, affectionate eyes, and laid +her hand on the jewelled fingers. + +"Oh, I mean it!" said the lady, with a pretty little grimace. "I mean +it, Miss Puritan. See! Here's a pretty emerald. But you haven't told me +the news. Mr. Montfort is well always?" + +"Always!" said Margaret. "We--we have a visitor just now, Mrs. +Peyton,--some one you know." + +"Some one I know?" cried Mrs. Peyton. "I thought every one I knew was +dead and buried. Who is it, child? Don't keep me in suspense. Can't you +see that I am palpitating?" + +She laughed, and looked so pretty, and so malicious, that Margaret +wanted to kiss and to shake her at the same moment. + +"It is a cousin of Uncle John's and of mine," she said; "Miss Sophronia +Montfort." + +"_What!_" cried Mrs. Peyton, sitting up in bed. "Sophronia Montfort? You +are joking, Margaret." + +Assured that Margaret was not joking, she fell back again on her +pillows. "Sophronia Montfort!" she said, laughing softly. "I have not +heard of her since the flood. How does John--how does Mr. Montfort +endure it, Pussy? He was not always a patient man." + +Margaret thought her uncle one of the most patient men she had ever +seen. + +"And how many men have you seen, little girl? Never mind! I will allow +him all the qualities of the Patient Patriarch. He will need them all, +if he is to have Sophronia long. I am sorry for you, Pussy! Come over as +often as you can to see me. I am dull, but there are worse things than +dullness." + +This was not very encouraging. + +"She--Cousin Sophronia--sent you a great many messages," Margaret said, +timidly. "She--is very anxious to see you, Mrs. Peyton. She would like +to come over some morning, and spend an hour with you." + +"If she does, I'll poison her!" said Mrs. Peyton, promptly. "Don't look +shocked, Margaret Montfort; I shall certainly do as I say. Sophronia +comes here at peril of her life, and you may tell her so with my +compliments." + +Margaret sat silent and distressed, not knowing what to say. She had +known very few people in her quiet life, and this beautiful lady, whom +she admired greatly, also puzzled her sadly. + +"I cannot tell her that, can I, dear Mrs. Peyton?" she said, at last. "I +shall tell her that you are not well,--that is true, most +certainly,--and that you do not feel able to see her." + +"Tell her what you please," said Emily Peyton, laughing again. "If she +comes, I shall poison her,--that is my first and last word. Tell her? +Tell her that Emily Peyton is a wreck; that she lies here like a log, +week after week, month after month, caring for nothing, no one caring +for her, except a kind little girl, who is frightened at her wild talk. +I might try the poison on myself first, Margaret; what do you think of +that?" Then, seeing Margaret's white, shocked face, she laughed again, +and fell to tossing the gems into the air, and catching them as they +fell. "It would be a pity, though, just when I have got all these new +playthings. Did you bring a book to read to me, little girl? I can't +abide reading, but I like to hear your voice. You have something, I see +it in your guilty face. Poetry, I'll be bound. Out with it, witch! You +hope to bring me to a sense of the error of my ways. Why, I used to read +poetry, Margaret, by the dozen yards. Byron,--does any one read Byron +nowadays?" + +"My father was fond of Byron," said Margaret. "He used to read me bits +of 'Childe Harold' and the 'Corsair;' I liked them, and I always loved +the 'Assyrian.' But--I thought you might like something bright and +cheerful to-day, Mrs. Peyton, so I brought Austin Dobson. Are you fond +of Dobson?" + +"Never heard of him!" said the lady, carelessly. "Read whatever you +like, child; your voice always soothes me. Will you come and be my +companion, Margaret? Your uncle has Sophronia now; he cannot need you. +Come to me! You shall have a thousand, two thousand dollars a year, and +all the jewels you want. I'll have these set for you, if you like." + +[Illustration: "'DID YOU BRING A BOOK TO READ TO ME, LITTLE GIRL?'"] + +She seemed only half in earnest, and Margaret laughed. "You sent your +last companion away, you know, Mrs. Peyton," she said. "I'm afraid I +should not suit you, either." + +"My dear, that woman ate apples! No one could endure that, you know. +Ate--champed apples in my ears, and threw the cores into my grate. +Positively, she smelt of apples all day long. I had to have the room +fumigated when she left. A dreadful person! One of her front teeth was +movable, too, and set me distracted every time she opened her mouth. Are +you ever going to begin?" + +Margaret read two or three of her favourite poems, but with little heart +in her reading, for she felt that her listener was not listening. Now +and then would come an impatient sigh, or a fretful movement of the +jewelled hands; once a sapphire was tossed up in the air, and fell on +the floor by Margaret's feet. Only when she began the lovely "Good +Night, Babette!" did Mrs. Peyton's attention seem to fix. She listened +quietly, and, at the end, drew a deep breath. + +"You call that bright and cheerful, do you?" Mrs. Peyton murmured. +"Everything looks cheerful in the morning. Good night,--"I grow so +old,"--how dare you read me such a thing as that, Margaret Montfort? It +is an impertinence." + +"Indeed," said Margaret, colouring, and now really wounded. "I do not +understand you at all to-day, Mrs. Peyton. I don't seem to be able to +please you, and it is time for me to go." + +She rose, and the lady, her mood changing again in an instant, took her +two hands, and drew her close to her side. + +"You are my only comfort," she said. "Do you hear that? You are the only +person in this whole dreadful place that I would give the half of a +burnt straw to see. Remember that, when I behave too abominably. Yes, go +now, for I am going to have a bad turn. Send Antonia; and come again +soon--soon, do you hear, Margaret? But remember--remember that the +poison-bowl waits for Sophronia!" + +"What--shall I give her any message?" said poor Margaret, as she bent +to kiss the white forehead between the glittering waves of hair. + +"Give her my malediction," said Mrs. Peyton. "Tell her it is almost a +consolation for lying here, to think I need not see her. Tell her +anything you like. Go now! Good-bye, child! Dear little quaint, funny, +prim child, good-bye!" + + * * * * * + +Margaret walked home sadly enough. She loved and admired her beautiful +friend, but she did not understand her, and there was much that she +could not approve. It seemed absurd, she often said to herself, for a +girl of her age to criticise, to venture to disapprove, of a woman old +enough to be her mother, one who had travelled the world over, and knew +plenty of human nature, if little of books. Yet, the thought would come +again, there was no age to right and wrong; and there were things that +it could not be right to think, or kind to say, at eighteen or at +eighty. And her uncle did not like Mrs. Peyton. Margaret felt that, +without his having ever put it into words. Still, she was so beautiful, +so fascinating,--and so kind to her! Perhaps, unconsciously, Margaret +did miss a good deal the two young cousins who had been with her during +her first year at Fernley; surely, and every hour, she missed her Aunt +Faith, whose tenderness had been that of the mother she had never known. + +She was in no haste to go home; there was still an hour before Uncle +John would come. There was little peace at home in these days, but a +prying eye, and a tongue that was seldom still save in sleep. She had +left Elizabeth in tears to-day, her precious linen having been pulled +over, and all the creases changed because they ran the wrong way. In +vain Margaret had reminded her of the heroine of the story she had liked +so much, the angelic Elizabeth of Hungary. "It don't make much +difference, Miss Margaret!" Elizabeth said. "I am no saint, miss, and +all the roses in the world wouldn't make my table-cloths look fit to go +on, now." + +Frances was "neither to hold or to bind;" even the two young girls whom +the elder women had in training were tossing their heads and muttering +over their brasses and their saucepans. The apple of discord seemed to +be rolling all about the once peaceful rooms of Fernley House. "I'll go +home through the woods," said Margaret, "and see if they have begun work +on the bog yet." + +It was lovely in the woods. Margaret thought there could be no such +woods in the world as these of Fernley. The pines were straight and +tall, and there was little or no undergrowth; just clear, fragrant +stretches of brown needles, where one could lie at length and look up +into the whispering green, and watch the birds and squirrels. There was +moss here and there; here and there, too, a bed of pale green ferns, +delicate and plumy; but most of it was the soft red-brown carpet that +Margaret loved better even than ferns. She walked slowly along, drinking +in beauty and rest at every step. If she could only bring the sick lady +out here, she thought, to breathe this life-giving air! Surely she would +be better! She did not look ill enough to stay always in bed. They must +try to bring it about. + +She stopped at the little brook, and sat down on a mossy stone. The +water was clear and brown, breaking into white over the pebbles here and +there. How delightful it would be to take off her shoes and stockings, +and paddle about a little! Peggy, her cousin, would have been in the +water in an instant, very likely shoes and all; but Margaret was timid, +and it required some resolution to pull off her shoes and stockings, and +a good deal of glancing over her shoulder, to make sure that no one was +in sight. Indeed, who could be? The water was cool; oh, so cool and +fresh! She waded a little way; almost lost her balance on a slippery +stone, and fled back to the bank, laughing and out of breath. A frog +came up to look at her, and goggled in amazement; she flipped water at +him with her hand, and he vanished indignant. It would be very pleasant +to walk along the bed of the stream, as far as the entrance to the bog +meadow. Could she venture so far? No, for after all, it was possible +that some of the workmen might have arrived and might be in the +neighbourhood, though they were not to begin work till the next day. +Very slowly Margaret drew her feet out of the clear stream where they +twinkled and looked so white,--Margaret had pretty feet,--but she could +not make up her mind to put on the shoes and stockings just yet. She +must dry her feet; and this moss was delightful to walk on. So on she +went, treading lightly and carefully, finding every step a pure +pleasure, till she saw sunlight breaking through the green, and knew +that she was coming to the edge of the peat bog. Ah, what memories this +place brought to Margaret's mind! She could see her cousin Rita, +springing out in merry defiance over the treacherous green meadow; could +hear her scream, and see her sinking deep, deep, into the dreadful +blackness below. Then, like a flash, came Peggy from the wood, this very +wood she was walking in now, and ran, and crept, and reached out, and by +sheer strength and cleverness saved Rita from a dreadful death, while +she, Margaret, stood helpless by. Dear, brave Peggy! Ah, dear girls +both! How she would like to see them this moment. Why! Why, what was +that? + +Some one was whistling out there in the open. Whistling a lively, +rollicking air, with a note as clear and strong as a bird's. Horror! The +workmen must have come! Margaret was down on the grass in an instant, +pulling desperately at her shoes and stockings. From the panic she was +in, one might have thought that the woods were full of whistling +brigands, all rushing in her direction, with murder in their hearts. She +could hardly see; there was a knot in her shoe-string; why did she ever +have shoes that tied? Her heart was beating, the blood throbbing in her +ears,--and all the time the whistling went on, not coming nearer, but +trilling away in perfect cheerfulness, though broken now and then, and +coming in fits and starts. At last! At last the shoes were tied, and +Margaret stood up, still panting and crimson, but feeling that she could +face a robber, or even an innocent workman, without being disgraced for +life. Cautiously she stole to the edge of the wood, and peeped between +the pine-boles. The sun lay full on the peat bog, and it shone like a +great, sunny emerald, friendly and smiling, with no hint of the black +treachery at its heart. No hint? But look! Out in the very middle of the +bog a figure was standing, balanced on a tussock of firm earth. A light, +active figure, in blue jean jumper and overalls. One of the workmen, who +did not know of the peril, and was plunging to his destruction? Margaret +opened her lips to cry aloud, but kept silence, for the next moment she +comprehended that the young man (he was evidently young, though his back +was turned to her) knew well enough what he was about. He had a long +pole in his hand, and with this he was poking and prodding about in the +black depths beneath him. Now he sounded carefully a little way ahead of +him, and then, placing his pole carefully on another firm spot, leaped +to it lightly. The black bog water gurgled up about his feet, but he did +not sink, only planted his feet more firmly, and went on with his +sounding. Now he was singing. What was he singing? What a quaint, funny +air! + + "A wealthy young farmer of Plymouth, we hear, + He courted a nobleman's daughter, so dear; + And for to be married it was their intent,-- + +Hi! muskrat!--come out of there!" He almost lost his balance, and +Margaret screamed a very small scream, that could not be heard a dozen +yards. Recovering himself, the young man began to make his way towards +the shore, at a point nearly opposite to where Margaret stood. Springing +lightly to the firm ground, he took off his cap, and made a low bow to +the bog, saying at the same time something, Margaret could not hear +what. Then, looking carefully about him, the young workman appeared to +be selecting a spot of earth that was to his mind; having done so, he +sat down, took out a note-book, and wrote with ardour for several +minutes. Then he took off his cap, and ran his fingers through his +hair--which was very curly, and bright red--till it stood up in every +direction; then he turned three elaborate somersaults; and then, with +another salute to the bog, and a prolonged whistle, he went off, leaping +on his pole, and singing, as he went: + + "And for to be mar-ri-ed it was their intent; + All friends and relations had given their consent." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +A LESSON IN GEOGRAPHY. + + +"Margaret!" + +"Yes, uncle." + +"Can you come here a moment, my dear?" + +"Surely, Uncle John. I was looking for you, and could not find you." + +Margaret came running in from the garden. Her uncle was sitting in his +private study, which opened directly on the garden, and communicated by +a staircase in the wall with his bedroom. The study was a pleasant room, +lined with books for the most part, but with some valuable pictures, and +a great table full of drawers, and several presses or secretaries, +filled with papers and family documents of every kind. Mr. John +Montfort, recluse though he was, was the head of a large and important +family connection. Few of his relatives ever saw him, but most of them +were in more or less constant correspondence with him, and he knew all +their secrets, though not one of them could boast of knowing his. He was +the friend and adviser, the kindly helper, of many a distant cousin who +had never met the kind, grave glance of his brown eyes. Peggy Montfort +used to say, in the days when it had pleased him to appear as John +Strong, the gardener, that it "smoothed her all out," just to look at +him; and many people experienced the same feeling on receiving one of +his letters. No one had it, however, so strongly as Margaret herself, or +so she thought; and it was with a sensation of delightful relief that +she answered his call this morning. Mr. Montfort turned round from the +great table at which he was sitting, and held out his hand +affectionately. + +"Come here, my child," he said, "and let me look at you. Look me +straight in the eyes; yes, that will do. You are feeling well, Margaret? +You look well, I must say." + +"Well? Of course, Uncle John! Am I ever anything else? I have never had +a day's illness since I came here." + +"You do not feel the load of responsibility too much for your young +shoulders?" Mr. Montfort went on. "It--it is not too dull for you here, +alone month after month with an elderly man, and a hermit, and one who +has the reputation of a grim and unfriendly old fellow? What do you say, +Margaret?" + +The quick tears sprang to Margaret's eyes. She looked up at her uncle, +and saw in his eyes the quizzical twinkle that always half puzzled and +wholly delighted her. "Oh, uncle!" she cried; "you really deceived me +this time! I might have known you were in fun,--but you were so grave!" + +"Grave?" said Mr. Montfort. "Never more so, I assure you. I may not have +very serious doubts, in my own mind; nevertheless, I want your +assurance. Do you, Margaret Montfort, find life a burden under existing +circumstances, or do you find it--well, endurable for awhile yet?" + +"I find life as happy as I can imagine it," said Margaret, simply; and +then, being absolutely truthful, she added, "That is,--I did find it +so, Uncle John,--until these last two weeks." + +"Precisely!" said Mr. Montfort. "Not a word, my dear! I understand you. +You are fond of children, I think, Margaret?" + +"Very fond," said Margaret, thinking that Uncle John was strange indeed +to-day. + +"Get on well with them, I should suppose. You had a great deal of +influence over Peggy, Margaret." + +"Dear, good Peggy! She was so ready to be influenced, Uncle John. She +was just waiting to--to be helped on a little, don't you know?" + +"Yes; so Rita thought, if I remember aright!" said Mr. Montfort, dryly. +"But with younger children, eh? You have had some experience of them, +perhaps, Margaret?" + +Was he still joking? Margaret had not much sense of humour, and she was +sadly puzzled again. + +"I--I love little children," she said. "Of course I do, Uncle John!" + +"Little children,--yes. But how about boys? Active, noisy, +happy-go-lucky boys? Boys that smash windows, and yell, and tear their +clothes on barbed-wire fences? How about those, Margaret?" + +"Is that the kind of boy you were, Uncle John?" asked Margaret, smiling. +"Because if so, I am sure I shall like them very much." + +"Very well, my dear child!" he said. "You are well and happy, and we +understand each other, and that is all right, very right. Now, +Margaret,--I ask this for form's sake merely,--have you been in this +room before, to-day?" + +"No, Uncle John," said Margaret. + +"Of course you have not. Knew it before I asked you. Do you notice +anything unusual in the appearance of the room, my dear?" + +Margaret looked about her, wondering. It produced an impression +of--well, not just the perfect order in which it was generally to be +found. Several drawers were half open; a sheaf of papers lay on the +floor, as if dropped by a startled hand. The writing things were +disarranged, slightly, yet noticeably; for Mr. Montfort always kept them +in one position, which was never changed save when they were in actual +use. + +"Why, it looks--as if--as if you had been in a hurry, Uncle John," she +said at last. + +"It looks as if _some one_ had been in a hurry," said Mr. Montfort, +significantly. "I have not been in this room before, to-day; I found it +in this condition. Never mind, my dear! I am going to write a letter +now. Don't let me keep you any longer." + +Margaret went away, wondering much; her uncle joined her soon, and they +looked at the roses together, and chatted as usual, and were happy, till +Cousin Sophronia rapped on the window with her thimble, and asked +whether they were coming in, or whether she should come out and join +them. + +She was trying that evening, Cousin Sophronia. Nothing on the tea-table +suited her, to begin with. She declared the beef tea unfit to touch, and +desired Mr. Montfort to taste it, which he politely but firmly refused +to do. "But it is not fit to eat!" cried the lady. "I insist on your +tasting it, my dear John." + +"My dear Sophronia, I am extremely sorry it is not to your taste. If it +is not good, I certainly do not want to taste it. Send it away and ask +me to taste something that is good." + +The chicken was tough. "You should change your butcher, John. Or are +these your own fowls? Chickens I will not call them; they must be two +years old at least. Nothing disagrees with me like tough poultry. Nobody +to look after the fowls properly, I suppose. I must take them in hand; +not that I have had any experience myself of fowls, but an educated +person, you understand. So important, I always say, to bring educated +intelligence to bear on these matters. And then, these knives are so +dull! Even if the fowls were tender, impossible to make an impression +with such a knife as this. Elizabeth, what do you use for your knives?" + +Elizabeth used Bristol brick, as she always had done. + +"Ah, entirely out of date, Bristol brick. You must send for some of the +preparation that William uses, John. Nothing like it. Something or +other, it's called; somebody's--I can't remember now, but we will have +it, never fear, dearest John. Shameful, for you to be subjected to dull +knives _and_ tough poultry. What are these? Strawberries? Dear me! I did +hope we could have raspberries this evening. One is so tired of +strawberries by this time, don't you think so?" + +"I am sorry," said Mr. Montfort. "The raspberries will be ripe in a day +or two, Sophronia; Willis thought they would hardly do to pick to-day." + +"Oh, but I assure you, my dearest John, Willis is entirely wrong. I +examined the bushes myself; I went quite through them, and found them +quite--entirely ripe. That was just Willis's laziness, depend upon it. +These old servants" (Elizabeth had gone to get more cream, the lady +having emptied the jug on her despised strawberries) "are too lazy to be +of much use. Depend upon it, John, you will know no peace until you get +rid of them all, and start afresh; I am thinking very seriously about +it, I assure you, my dear fellow. Yes, I have been longing for days for +a plate of raspberries and cream. I have so little appetite, that +whenever I _can_ tempt it a little, the doctor says, I must not fail to +do so. No more, dear, thank you! It is of no consequence, you know, +really, not the least in the world; only, one can be of so much more +use, when one keeps one's health. Ah, you remember what health I had as +a child, John! You remember the dear old days here, when we were +children together?" + +"I remember them very well, Sophronia," said Mr. Montfort, steadily. +"And speaking of that, I am expecting some young visitors here in a day +or two." + +Cousin Sophronia looked up with a jerk; Margaret looked at her uncle in +surprise; he sipped his tea tranquilly, and repeated: "Some young +visitors, yes. They will interest you, Sophronia, with your strong +family feeling." + +"Who--who are they?" asked Miss Sophronia. "Most ill-judged, I must say, +to have children here just now; who did you say they were, John?" + +"Cousin Anthony's children. They lost their mother some years ago, you +remember; I fancy Anthony has had rather a hard time with them since. +Now he has to go out West for the rest of the summer, and I have asked +them to come here." + +For once Miss Sophronia was speechless. After a moment's silence, +Margaret ventured to say, timidly, "How old are the children, Uncle +John?" + +"Really, my dear, I hardly know. Two boys and a girl, I believe. I don't +even know their names; haven't seen their father for twenty years. Good +fellow, Anthony; a little absent-minded and heedless, but a good fellow +always. I was glad to be able to oblige him." + +Miss Sophronia recovered her speech. + +"Really, my dear John," she said, with an acrid smile; "I had no idea +you were such a philanthropist. If Fernley is to become an asylum for +orphan relations--" + +"Sophronia!" said Mr. Montfort. + +His tone was quiet, but there was something in it that made the lady +redden, and check herself instantly. Margaret wondered what would +become of her, if her uncle should ever speak to her in that tone. + +"I am sure I meant nothing!" said Miss Sophronia, bridling and rallying +again. "I am sure there was no allusion to our dearest Margaret. Absurd! +But these children are very different. Why, Anthony Montfort is your +second cousin, John. I know every shade of relationship; it is +impossible to deceive me in such matters, John." + +"I should not attempt it, my dear cousin," said Mr. Montfort, quietly. +"Anthony _is_ my second cousin. I will go further to meet you, and admit +boldly that these children are my second cousins once removed, and +Margaret's third cousins. Where shall we put them, Margaret?" + +"My dearest John," cried Miss Sophronia, in her gayest tone, "you are +not to give it a thought! Is he, Margaret? No, my dear fellow! It is +noble of you--Quixotic, I must think, but undeniably noble--to take in +these poor little waifs; but you shall have no further thought about +providing for them. Everything shall be arranged; I know the house from +garret to cellar, remember. I will make every arrangement, dearest John, +depend upon me!" + +The evenings were not very gay at Fernley just now. Miss Sophronia could +not keep awake while any one else read aloud; so she took matters into +her own hands, and read herself, for an hour by the clock. Her voice was +high and thin, and kept Mr. Montfort awake; she was apt to emphasise the +wrong words, which made Margaret's soul cry out within her; and she +stopped every few minutes to chew a cardamom seed with great +deliberation. This simple action had the effect of making both her +hearers extremely nervous, they could not have explained why. Also, she +was afflicted with a sniff, which recurred at regular intervals, +generally in the middle of a sentence. Altogether the reading was a +chastened pleasure nowadays; and this particular evening it was +certainly a relief when she declared, before the hour was quite over, +that she was hoarse, and must stop before the end of the chapter. On the +whole, she thought it might be better for her to go to bed early, and +take some warm drink. "It would never do for me to be laid up, with +these children coming to be seen after!" she declared. So she departed, +and Margaret and her uncle sat down to a game of backgammon, and played +slowly and peacefully, lingering over their moves as long as they +pleased, and tasting the pleasure of having no one say that they should +play this or that, "of course!" + +The game over, Mr. Montfort leaned back in his chair, with an air of +content. + +"This is pleasant!" he said, slowly. "Margaret, my dear, this is very +pleasant!" Margaret smiled at him, but made no reply. None was needed: +the uncle and niece were so much alike in tastes and feelings, that they +hardly needed speech, sometimes, to know each other's thoughts. Both +were content to sit now silent, in the soft, cheerful candle-light, +looking about on the books and pictures that they loved, and feeling the +silence like a cordial. + +Suddenly Mr. Montfort's air of cheerful meditation changed. He sat +upright, and leaned slightly forward. He seemed to listen for +something. Then suddenly, softly, he rose, and with silent step crossed +the room and stood a moment beside the wall. It was a very different +face that he turned to Margaret the next instant. + +"My dear," he said, "there is some one in my study." + +"In your study, Uncle John? What do you mean? That is,--how can you +tell, uncle?" + +"Come here, and listen!" said her uncle. Margaret stole to his side, and +listened, her head, like his, near the wall. She heard the crackling of +paper; the sound of a drawer pulled softly out; the clank, muffled, but +unmistakable, of brass handles. What did it mean? She looked to her +uncle for explanation. He shook his head and motioned her to be silent. +Then, taking her hand in his, he led her softly from the room. Margaret +followed, greatly wondering, across the wide hall; through the low door +that led to the White Rooms, now her own; into her own sitting-room, or +Aunt Faith's room, as she still loved to call it. Here Mr. Montfort +released her hand, and again motioned her to be silent. + +"I will explain by and by, my dear," he said. "Follow me, now, and learn +another lesson in Fernley geography; I was keeping it for a surprise +some day, but never mind. Where is this place?" + +Margaret noticed, in all her confusion of surprise, that the great white +chair was pushed away from its usual place. Her uncle stepped in behind +the table near which it always stood, and passed his hand along the +smooth white panel of the wall. Noiselessly it swung open, revealing a +dark space. Margaret obeyed his gesture, and following, found herself in +a narrow passage, carpeted with felt, on which her feet made no sound. +They went forward some way; it was quite dark, but she followed her +uncle's guidance, and he trod as surely as if it were broad daylight. +Presently he stopped, and, with a pressure of the hand, bade her listen +again. The rustling of paper sounded very clear now; there was another +rustle, too, the rustle of silk. Suddenly, light flashed upon them; +Margaret felt herself drawn swiftly forward; there was a smothered +exclamation in her uncle's voice, followed by a scream from another. + +They were standing in Mr. Montfort's study. The room was lighted by a +single candle, that stood on the writing-table; beside this table, +backed against it in an attitude of terror and surprise, stood Miss +Sophronia Montfort, her hands full of documents, her eyes glaring. There +was a moment of silence, and Margaret counted her heart-beats. Then-- + +"Can I be of any assistance to you, my dear Sophronia?" asked Mr. +Montfort, blandly. "You seem in distress; allow me to relieve you of +some of these." He took the papers quietly, and laid them on the table. +Miss Sophronia gasped once, twice; opened and shut her eyes several +times, and swallowed convulsively; when she spoke, it was with a +fluttering voice, but in something like her ordinary tone. + +"My dear John! How you startled me! A--a--little surprise for you, my +dear fellow. Such a shocking condition as your papers were in. I +thought--a kindness--to bring a little order out of chaos; he! he! +ahem! my throat is troublesome to-night. A warm drink! Yes, my dear +John, I remembered the old passage, you see. I said, why should I +disturb the dear fellow, to ask him for the key to the outer door? And +really, John, these papers are too--too bad!" + +She shook her head in a manner that was meant to be playful; but +suddenly the smile dropped from her face like a mask; for Mr. Montfort +did a singular thing. He bent his head forward slightly; fixed his eyes +on his cousin with a peculiar expression, and advanced slowly, one step. +"Sophronia!" he said. + +Miss Sophronia began to tremble. + +"Don't, John!" she cried. "John Montfort, don't do it! I am your own +cousin. Your father and mine were brothers, John. I hope I know my +duty--ah, don't! I will not, John Montfort!" + +Margaret looked from one to the other in blank amazement. The lady +seemed in the extremity of terror. Her uncle--was this her uncle? +Instead of the grave, dignified gentleman, she seemed to see a boy; a +boy intent on mischief, every motion of him alive with power and +malice. Step by step he advanced, his hands clenched, his head bent +forward, his eyes still fixed, bright and strong, on his cousin. + +"Sophronia!" he said, "I am coming! Sophronia! Sophronia! Sophronia!" +Each time he quickened voice and step. He was almost upon her; with one +wild shriek Miss Sophronia turned and fled. Her skirts whisked along the +secret passage; they heard the door bang. She was gone. + +Mr. Montfort sat down in his study chair and laughed long and silently. + +"Don't look so frightened, my dear!" he said, at last. "It was a scurvy +trick, but she deserved it. I--I used to run Sophronia up-stairs, +Margaret, when she was a troublesome girl. It always frightened her. I'd +have done it in another minute, if she had not run, but I knew she +would. Poor Sophronia! I suppose something of the boy stays in us, my +dear, as long as we live. I--I am afraid I should rather have enjoyed +running Sophronia up-stairs." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE DAUNTLESS THREE. + + +The next morning Miss Sophronia kept her bed; her cold, she said, was +too severe to admit of her joining the family at breakfast. Margaret +waited on her with an uneasy sense of guilt in general, though she could +not accuse herself of any special sin. She did her best to be +sympathetic and dutiful, having been brought up to respect her elders +sincerely. But she was puzzled all the same, and when it came to any +question between her cousin and her uncle, there were no more doubts. +She must put herself out of the way as much as possible, and give up, +wherever her own pleasure was concerned,--where it was any matter +connected with Uncle John, she would be the Rock of Gibraltar. This +being settled, the Rock of Gibraltar brought raspberries for Cousin +Sophronia's breakfast, and made her room bright with flowers, and tried +to make cheer for her. The poor lady was rather subdued, and told +Margaret she was a cherub child; then declared she would not be a burden +on any one, and sent the girl away to "amuse herself." + +"Be happy as a butterfly, my dear, all the morning; don't give me a +thought, I beg of you. If Frances would have a new-laid egg ready for me +at eleven--positively a new-laid one, Margaret! Perhaps you would bring +it yourself from the hen-yard. I have no confidence in servants, and it +would make a pleasant little trip for you. So important, I always say, +for the young to have something useful to mingle with their sports. +Boiled three minutes and a half, my love! I doubt if I can eat it, but +it is my duty to make the attempt. Bless you! Good-bye! If you happen to +have nothing to do about twelve, you might bring your work and sit with +me. I am the most sociable creature in the world; I cannot endure to be +alone when I am ill; but don't have me on your mind, my love, for a +single instant." + +All the duties attended to, Margaret spent a delightful hour, with +Elizabeth's assistance, in making ready the rooms for the newcomers. The +little girl was to have Peggy's room, next her own, and that needed +nothing save fresh flowers in the vases, and fresh ribbons on the +curtains. But the boys were to have the old nursery, the great room that +ran across the whole width of the house, on the third floor. It was a +pleasant room, with dormer windows facing east and south, a great +fireplace, with a high wire fender, and a huge sofa, covered with red +chintz dragons. A funny sofa it was, with little drawers let in along +the sides. John Montfort and his brothers used to lie on this sofa, when +they had the measles and whooping-cough, and play with the brass +drawer-handles, and keep their treasures in the drawers. The windows +were barred, and there was a gate across the landing, at the top of the +stairs. Elizabeth had suggested taking away the gate and the bars, "such +big young gentlemen as these would be, most likely, sir!" but Mr. +Montfort shook his head very decidedly. + +"If they are Montfort boys, Elizabeth, they will need all the bars we +can give them. Master Richard was twelve, when he squeezed himself +between these, and went along the gutter hanging by his hands, till he +came to the spout, and shinned down it. Never make things too easy for a +Montfort boy!" + +In one corner stood a huge rocking-horse, with saddle and bridle of +crimson leather, rather the worse for wear. He was blind of one eye, and +his tail had seen service, but he was a fine animal for all that. +Margaret hunted about in the attic, and found a box of ninepins. +Marbles, too; Uncle John had told her that there must be marbles +somewhere, in a large bag of flowered purple calico, with a red string. +They had been there forty years; they must be there still. She found +them at last, hanging from a peg of one of the great beams. On the beam +close by was written: + + "This is my Peg. If any Pig touches my Peg, + that Pig will be Pegged. Signed, JOHN MONTFORT." + +"Oh," thought Margaret, "what a pleasant boy Uncle John must have been! +What good times we should have had together!" And then she reflected +that he could not possibly have been so nice a boy as he was an uncle, +and was content. + +The marbles, and the rocking-horse, and--what else ought there to be? +Tops! Uncle John had said something about tops. Here Margaret screamed, +and fled to the attic door. Something was moving on the beam by which +she had been standing, perched on a chair. Something rolled slowly +along, half the length of the beam, and dropped to the floor and rolled +towards her. Laughing now, Margaret stooped and picked up a great ball, +a leather ball, striped red and black. On one of the red stripes was +written, in large, unconventional letters, "Roger." It was her father's +ball! Margaret held the toy very tenderly in her hands, and tried to see +the worn, thoughtful face she remembered so well, a rosy boy's face, +full of light and laughter. She had seen, yesterday, strangely enough, +her uncle's boyish looks, revealed in a flash of mischief; it was less +easy to see her father's. + +As she stood meditating, the sound of wheels was heard outside. Margaret +ran to look out of the little gable window, then clapped her hands +together, in amazement and pleasure. The children had come! + +When she reached the verandah, they were already standing there, facing +Mr. Montfort, who had come out by an early train, and was standing +looking at them with amused attention, holding the little girl's hands +in his. + +"And what are your names, my dears?" he was saying. + +"Basil, Merton, and Susan D.," replied the elder boy, promptly, while +three pairs of sharp eyes were fastened on the strange uncle. + +"Battle, Murder, and Sudden Death!" said Mr. Montfort under his breath. +He had no idea that any one could hear him, but a shriek of laughter +startled him, and made Margaret jump. + +"That's what Puppa calls us!" cried Basil, springing lightly up and down +on the tips of his toes. "We didn't know whether you would or not; he +said you would pretty soon, anyhow. How do you do, Uncle John? We are +very well, thank you. I am thirteen, and Mert is twelve, and Susan D. is +ten. Puppa hopes we shall not be troublesome, and here are the keys of +the trunks." + +The boy drew a long breath, and looked round him with an air of triumph. + +"Well, I should think you would know it!" said his brother. "Been saying +it all the way over here." + +"More than you could do!" retorted his elder. + +"Wouldn't do it anyhow, so there!" said the younger. + +[Illustration: "THE LITTLE GIRL HAD NEVER STIRRED, BUT STOOD GAZING UP +AT THE BIG MAN WHO HELD HER HANDS."] + +These last remarks had been carried on in an undertone, the set speech +having been delivered slowly and with much dignity. Finally each boy +kicked the other's shins surreptitiously, and then both stared again at +their uncle. The little girl had never stirred, but stood gazing up at +the big man who held her hands so lightly and yet so kindly, and who had +such bright, deep, quiet brown eyes. Margaret, standing in the doorway, +scrutinised the three, and felt a sinking at the heart. Basil Montfort +was a tall boy for his age, slender and wiry, with tow-coloured hair +that stood straight on end, thin lips that curled up at the corners with +a suggestion of malice, and piercing gray eyes, which he had a trick of +screwing up till they were like gimlet points. The second, Merton, was +decidedly better-looking, with pretty curly hair, and blue eyes with an +appealing look in them; but Margaret fancied he looked a little sly; and +straightway took herself to task for the unkind fancy. The little girl +was Basil over again, save that the tow-coloured hair was put back with +a round comb, and the gray eyes widely opened, instead of half shut, +when she looked at any one. All three children were neatly dressed, and +all looked as if they were not used to their clothes. + +"Well," said Mr. Montfort at last, after a long, silent look at each one +in turn, "I am very glad to see you, children. I hope we are going to be +good friends. Boys, I was a boy myself, just two or three years ago,--or +it may be four,--so you can ask me about anything you want to know. +Susan, I never was a girl, you see, but that need not make much +difference. Your Cousin Margaret--oh, here _is_ your Cousin Margaret! +She will be good to you, and--and in short, you are all very welcome to +Fernley, and there is a swing in the garden, and the rest you can find +out for yourselves." + +Margaret came forward, and shook hands with the boys, and kissed the +little girl warmly. Evidently Susan D. was not used to being kissed, for +she blushed, and her brothers giggled rather rudely, till they caught +Mr. Montfort's eye, and stopped. + +"Young gentlemen," said Uncle John, with an emphasis which brought the +blood to Basil's cheek, "dinner will be ready"--he looked at his +watch--"in an hour. I daresay they would like something now, Margaret; +crackers and cheese, gingerbread,--what? You'll find them something." +Mr. Montfort nodded kindly, and strode away to his study. Margaret was +left alone with the three strange children, feeling shyer than ever +before in her life. The meeting with the three cousins of her own age, +two years ago, was nothing to this. + +"Are you hungry, boys?" she asked. + +"Starving!" said Merton. + +"He isn't," said Susan D. "He's been eating all the way, ever since we +left home. He's a greedy,--that's what he is." Then, scared at her own +voice, she hung her head down, and put her finger in her mouth. + +"Oh, well," said Margaret, "I daresay you would all be hungry before +dinner-time, so suppose we come into the pantry and see what we can +find. Will you come with me, Susan, dear?" She held out her hand, but +the little girl evaded it, and followed in the rear, holding her own +hands behind her back. + +"Will you call me Cousin Margaret?" the girl went on. "And shall I call +you Susie, or do you like Susan better?" + +Susan not replying, Basil replied for her. "Susan D. we call her; but +Puppa calls her Sudden Death when she acts bad; she mostly does act +bad." + +"Don't neither!" muttered Susan D., scowling. + +"Do teither!" retorted both brothers in a breath. + +"She ain't shy!" Basil went on. "She's sulky, that's all. Merton's shy, +and I ain't. I'll tell you things, when you ask me; they won't, half the +time." + +"Well, I haven't asked you anything, yet, have I?" said Margaret, +smiling, and feeling more at ease with this boy, somehow, than with +either of the others. "What can you tell me that is pleasant about +them?" + +"That's so!" said Basil, and his lips parted suddenly in a smile that +positively transfigured his plain face. "Well, Mert's the best boxer, +and he can sing and draw. I'm the best runner, of course, 'count of my +legs being long, you see." He held up a long, thin leg for Margaret's +inspection. "Some fellows called me Spider once, and Susan D. scratched +their faces for 'em. She's great at scratching, Susan D. is." + +"My dear!" said poor Margaret. "I thought you were going to tell me the +pleasant things, Basil." + +"Ain't I?" said the boy, innocently. "She was standing up for me, you +see. She always stands up for me; Mert is a sne---- well, what I was +going to say, she's a pretty good runner, for a girl, and she can shin a +rope too, better than any of us. Mert can hang on longest with his +teeth." + +"What _do_ you mean, child?" cried Margaret, laughing. Basil flashed his +brilliant smile on her again. + +"Tables," he explained. "Yes, please, crackers; and quite a lot of +cheese, please." + +"Greedy Gobble!" interjected Merton. + +"Well, I like that!" said Basil. "Who ate my sandwich, when I was +looking out of the window? I tell you what, I'd punch your head for two +cents, young feller!" + +"Boys," said Margaret, decidedly, "I cannot have this! While you are +with me, I expect you to behave decently." + +"Yes, ma'am!" said both boys, with ready cheerfulness; and Basil +continued his explanation. + +"We see which can hang on to a table longest, don't you know, by your +teeth. Did ever you?" + +"No, I certainly never did; and--I don't think you'd better try it here, +Basil. It must be very hard on your teeth, besides ruining the table." + +"It ain't healthy for the table," Basil admitted. "You ought to see the +tables at home! It makes like a little pattern round the edge, +sometimes. Quite pretty, I think. Say, are you the boss here?" + +Seated on the pantry dresser, swinging his legs, the young gentleman +seemed as much at home as if he had spent his life at Fernley. The two +other children were eating hastily and furtively, as if they feared each +bite might be their last. Basil crunched his crackers and nibbled his +cheese with an air of perfect unconcern. "Are you the boss here?" he +repeated. + +"Am I in authority, do you mean?" asked Margaret, who could not abide +slang of any kind. "No, indeed, Basil. Your Uncle John is the head of +the house, in every possible way. I hope you are all going to be very +good and obedient. He is the kindest, best man in the whole world." + +"I think he's bully," said Basil. "I guess you're bully too, ain't you? +And it's a bully place. Hi, Mert, there's a squirrel! Look at him +running up that tree. My! Wish I had a pea-shooter!" + +"Bet you couldn't hit him if you had!" cried Merton, as all three +children watched the squirrel with breathless interest. + +"Bet I could!" said Basil, contemptuously. + +"Guess he could hit it when you couldn't hit a barn in the next county!" +cried Susan D. in a kind of small shriek; then she caught Margaret's +eye, blushed furiously, and tried to get behind her bread and butter. + +"I say! can we go out in the garden?" cried Basil. + +"Yes, indeed, but wouldn't you like to come up and see your rooms first? +Such pleasant rooms! I am sure you will like them." + +But none of the children cared to see the pleasant rooms. Receiving +permission to play till they heard the dinner-bell, they fled suddenly, +as if the constable were at their heels. Margaret saw their legs +twinkling across the grass-plot. They were yelling like red Indians. +Susan D.'s hat blew off at the third bound; Basil shied his cap into a +bush with a joyous whoop, then snatched off his brother's and threw that +after it. Merton grappled him with a shout, and they rolled over and +over at the feet of their sister, who bent down and pummelled them both +with might and main, shrieking with excitement. As Margaret gazed +aghast, preparing to fly and interfere, she heard a quiet laugh behind +her, and turning, saw Mr. Montfort looking over her shoulder. + +"Battle, Murder, and Sudden Death!" he said. "Separate them? On no +account, my dear! They have been shut up for hours, and their muscles +need stretching. Don't be alarmed, my child; I know this kind." Poor +Margaret sighed. She did not know this kind. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE FIRST CONQUEST. + + +When Margaret went to bed that night, she felt as if she had been +whipped with rods. Head, heart, and back, all ached in sympathy. The +children were in bed; that is, she had left them in bed; their staying +there was another matter; however, all three were tired after their +journey, and Uncle John thought the chances were that they would fall +asleep before they had time to think of doing anything else. Among the +three, the little girl was the one who oppressed Margaret with a sense +of defeat, a sense of her own incompetence. She had not expected to +understand the boys; she had never had any experience of boys; but she +had expected to win the little girl to her, and make her a little +friend, perhaps almost a sister. Susan D. received her advances with an +elfish coldness that had something not human in it, Margaret thought. +The child was like a changeling, in the old fairy stories. That evening, +when bedtime came, Margaret went up with her to the pretty room, hoping +for a pleasant time. She sat down and took the little girl on her knee. +"Let us have a cuddle, dear!" she said; "put your head down on my +shoulder, and I will sing you one of my own bedtime songs, that my nurse +used to sing to me." + +Susan D. sat bold upright, not a yielding joint in all her body. + +"Don't you like songs?" asked Margaret, stroking the tow-coloured hair +gently. + +"No!" said the child; and with the word she wriggled off Margaret's lap, +and stood twisting her fingers awkwardly, and frowning at the floor. +Margaret sighed. + +"Then we will undress and get to bed," she said, trying to speak +lightly. "You must be very tired, little girl. Isn't that a pretty bed? +Is your bed at home like this? Tell me about your room, won't you, +Susie?" + +But Susan D. still twisted her fingers and frowned, and would not say a +single word. She made no resistance, however, when Margaret helped her +off with her clothes. "You are big enough to undress yourself, of +course," the girl said, "but I will help you to-night, because you are +tired, and you must feel strange, coming so far away from home. Poor +little mite!" The child looked so small and slight, standing with her +dress off, and her thin shoulders sticking out like wings, that Margaret +felt a sudden thrill of compassion, and stooping, kissed the freckled +cheek warmly. The colour came into the child's face, but she stood like +a stock, never moving a muscle, never raising her eyes to take note of +the pretty, tasteful arrangements to which Margaret had given such +thought and pains. But the undressing went on, and presently she was in +her little nightgown, with her hair unbraided and smoothly brushed. She +might be pretty, Margaret decided, when she filled out a little, and had +a pleasanter expression. She was so little! Surely there must be one +more effort, this first night. + +"Shall I hear you say your prayers, dear?" asked Margaret, taking the +child's two hands in hers. Susan D. shook her head resolutely. + +"No? You like better to say them by yourself? Then I will come back in a +few minutes, and tuck you up in your little nest." + +The child gave no sign; and when Margaret came back, she was standing in +the same spot, in the same position. She got into bed obediently, and +made no resistance when Margaret tucked the bedclothes in, patted her +shoulder, and gave her a last good-night kiss. She might as well have +kissed the pillow for any response there was, but at least there had +been no shrinking this time. "Good night, Susan D.," said Margaret, +cheerfully, pausing at the door. "Good night, dear! Susan, I think you +must answer when you are spoken to." + +"Good night!" said Susan D. Margaret shut the door softly and went away. +As she passed along the corridor that ran round the hall, something +struck her forehead lightly. She looked up, and narrowly escaped getting +a fish-hook in her eye. Merton looked over the banisters, and smiled +appealingly. "I was fishin'," he said. "There's fish-lines in the +drawers of the sofa. I guess I 'most caught a whale, didn't I?" + +"Merton, you must go to bed at once!" said Margaret. "How long have you +been standing there in your nightgown? You might catch your death." (It +had been one of old Katy's maxims that if you stood about in your +nightgown for however short a time, you inevitably got your death. +Margaret had never doubted it till this moment.) "I am coming up now to +tuck you both up!" she added, with a happy inspiration. + +There was a hasty scuffle, then a rush, accompanied by smothered +squeals. When Margaret reached the nursery, both boys were in bed. +Merton's blue eyes were wide open, and fixed on her with mournful +earnestness; Basil was asleep, the clothes tucked in well under his +chin. He lay on his back, his mouth slightly opened; he was snoring +gently, but unobtrusively. Poor child! no doubt he was tired enough. But +how had Merton managed to make so _much_ noise? + +Margaret looked around her, and Merton's gaze grew more intense. His own +clothes lay in a heap on the floor, but where were his brother's? +And--and what was that, smoothly folded over the back of a chair? A +clean nightgown? + +But when Merton saw his cousin's eyes fix on the nightgown, he exploded +in a bubbling laugh. "He--he ain't undressed at all!" he cried, +gleefully. "He never! he's got his boots on, and every single--" The +speech got no further. There was a flying whirl of blankets, a leap, and +Basil was on his brother's chest, pounding him with right good will. +"You sneak!" he cried. "I'll teach you--" + +There was no time to think; the child would be killed before her eyes. +Margaret took a firm hold on Basil's collar, and dragged him off by main +strength, he still clawing the air. Unconsciously, she gave him a hearty +shake before she let go; the boy staggered back a few paces; who would +have thought that Margaret had such strength in her slender wrists? The +crisis over, she panted, and felt faint for an instant; Basil, after a +moment of bewilderment, looked at her, and the smile broke all over his +face, a moment before black with rage. + +"Got me that time, didn't you?" he said, simply. "He's a mean sneak, +Mert is. I'll serve him out to-morrow, don't you be afraid!" + +"Basil, what does this mean?" asked Margaret, severely. "Why are you not +in bed?" Then as Basil sent an eloquent glance at the pillow where his +head had been lying so quietly, she added, "Why are you not undressed, I +mean? I am afraid you have been very naughty, both of you, boys." + +"Well, you see," said Basil, apologetically, "there was all kinds of +things in the drawers, and then I got on the rocking-horse, and it +wasn't but just a minute before you came up. I say, isn't this a bully +room, Cousin Margaret? I think Uncle John was awfully good to give us +such a room as this. Why doesn't he sleep here himself? Bet I would, if +I owned the house. I say, do those marbles belong to him?" + +"I suppose so," said Margaret, smiling in spite of herself; "yes, I am +sure they were his. But now, Basil,--" + +"Well, see here!" cried the boy, excitedly. "Because, you see, they're +worth a lot, some of 'em. Why, there's agates,--why, they are perfect +beauties! Just look!" He ran towards the sofa, but Margaret stopped him +resolutely. + +"To-morrow, Basil!" she said. "To-morrow you shall show me everything +you like; but now you must go to bed, this very moment. I am pretty +tired, but I shall sit outside on the landing, till you tell me that you +are in bed; then I shall come in and make sure for myself, and tuck you +in." + +Basil illuminated the room again. "Will you?" he cried. "Honest, will +you tuck us in?" + +Margaret nodded, wondering, and withdrew to the landing, where she sat +with her head in her hands, saying to herself, "Let nothing disturb +thee, nothing affright thee--" + +Basil spoke through the keyhole. "Cousin Margaret!" + +"Yes, Basil; are you ready so soon?" + +"No, not quite. I wanted to say,--do you think you ought to spank me?" + +"No, certainly not, my dear!" + +"'Cause you can, if you think you'd better." + +"No, no, Basil; only do get to bed, like a good boy!" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +A sudden plunge was heard, a thump, and the agonised shriek of a +suffering bedstead. "Now I'm in bed!" said Basil. Margaret picked up the +two heaps of clothing, and laid them neatly on two chairs. "I want you +to do this yourselves after this," she explained. "It isn't nice to +leave your things on the floor." + +"All right!" "We will!" said both boys; and then they joined in a +fervent appeal to her not to turn their knickerbockers upside down. +"'Cause all the things in your pockets spill out," said Merton. + +"And then you get 'em mixed, and can't tell what belongs where," cried +Basil. "Thank you, Cousin Margaret; that's bully!" + +Margaret tucked Merton in first; he looked so dimpled and pretty, she +was tempted to offer a caress, but the recollection of Susan D. kept +her from it. Turning away, she came to Basil's bed. The boy watched her +intently as she smoothed the bedclothes with practised hand, and tucked +them in exactly right, not too tight and not too loose. There are +several ways of tucking a person into bed. With a pleasant "Good night!" +she was about to leave him, but something in the boy's face held her. +"Is there anything you want, my dear?" she asked, gently. Basil looked +at her; then turned his head away. "Mother used to put me to bed!" he +muttered, so low that Margaret could hardly hear. She did hear, however; +and instantly stooping over the boy, she kissed him warmly. Thank +Heaven, here was one who did want to be loved. "Dear Basil," she said, +tenderly. "Dear boy, you shall tell me all about her some day. Will +you?" The boy nodded; his eyes were eloquent, but he did not speak. Her +heart still warm, Margaret looked across at Merton; but Basil plucked +her gown and whispered, "He--doesn't know. He can't remember her. +Perhaps you can teach him--" + +Margaret nodded, kissed the boy's white forehead once more, and went +away with a lighter heart than she had brought with her. On the floor +below she paused to listen at Susan's door; all was quiet there. Cousin +Sophronia was asleep, too, no doubt; Margaret had spent part of the +evening with her, reading, and listening to her doleful prophecies of +the miseries entailed by the coming of "these dreadful children!" It was +nearly her own bedtime, too, for between Cousin Sophronia and the +children the evening had slipped away all too fast. But surely she might +have a few minutes of peace and joy? The library door stood open; from +it there came a stream of cheerful light, and the perfume of a Manila +cigar. Oh, good! Uncle John had not gone to his study; he was waiting +for her. As she passed Miss Sophronia's door, Margaret fancied she heard +a call; but she was not sure, and for once she was rebellious. She flew +down-stairs, and ran into the library. + +The pleasant room lay in shade, save for the bright gleam of the +reading-lamp. Among the books which lined the walls from floor to +ceiling, the gilded backs of the smaller volumes caught the light and +sent it back in soft, broken twinklings; but the great brown folios on +the lower shelves were half lost in a comfortable duskiness. The crimson +curtains were drawn before the open windows, and the evening wind waved +them lightly now and then, sending new shadows to chase the old ones +along the walls and ceiling. The thick old Turkey carpet held every +possible shade of soft, faded richness, and the brown leather armchairs +looked as if they had been sat in by generations of book-loving +Montforts, as indeed they had. And amid all this sober comfort, by the +great library table with its orderly litter of magazines and new books, +sat Mr. John Montfort, book in hand and cigar in mouth, a breathing +statue of Ease, in a brown velvet smoking-jacket. He looked up, and, +seeing Margaret in the doorway, laid down his book, and held out his +hand with a gesture of welcome. "Well, my girl," he said, "come and tell +me all about it!" + +With a great sigh of relief, Margaret dropped on the rug at her uncle's +feet, and laid her tired head on his knee. "Uncle John!" she said. "Oh, +Uncle John!" That seemed to be all she wanted to say; she shut her eyes, +and gave herself up to the comfort which only comes with rest after +fatigue. + +Mr. Montfort stroked her hair gently, with a touch as light as a +woman's. Then he took up his book again, and began to read aloud. It was +a curious old book, bound in black leather, with great silver clasps. + + "In that isle is a dead sea or lake, that has + no bottom; and if any thing falls into it, it + will never come up again. In that lake grow + reeds, which they call Thaby, that are thirty + fathoms long; and of these reeds they make fair + houses. And there are other reeds, not so long, + that grow near the land, and have roots full a + quarter of a furlong long or more, at the knots + of which roots precious stones are found that + have great virtues; for he who carries any of + them upon him may not be hurt by iron or steel; + and therefore they who have those stones on + them fight very boldly both by sea and land; + and therefore, when their enemies are aware of + this, they shoot at them darts without iron or + steel, and so hurt and slay them. And also of + those reeds they make houses and ships and + other things, as we here make houses and ships + of oak, or of any other tree. And let no man + think I am joking, for I have seen these reeds + with my own eyes." + +The words flowed on and on; Margaret felt her troubles smoothing +themselves out, melting away. "Who is this pleasant person?" she asked, +without raising her head. + +"Sir John Mandeville," said her uncle. "Rest a bit still, and we'll go +and see the Chan of Cathay with him. Here we are!" He turned a page or +two, and read again: + + "The emperor has his table alone by himself, + which is of gold and precious stones; or of + crystal, bordered with gold and full of + precious stones; or of amethysts, or of lignum + aloes, that comes out of Paradise; or of ivory + bound or bordered with gold. And under the + emperor's table sit four clerks, who write all + that the emperor says, be it good or evil; for + all that he says must be held good; for he may + not change his word nor revoke it." + +"Oh, but I shouldn't like that, Uncle John!" cried Margaret. "I +shouldn't like that at all! Should you?" + +"I don't think it would be agreeable," Mr. Montfort admitted. "But when +we come to anything we don't like, we can suppose that Sir John +was--shall we call it embroidering? And how does my girl feel now? Are +the wrinkles smoothing out at all?" + +"All smooth!" replied the girl. "All gone, Uncle John. I was only a +little tired; and--Uncle John--" + +"Yes, dear child." + +"You must expect that I shall do a great many wrong things, at first. I +am very ignorant, and--well, not very old, perhaps. If only I can make +the children love me!" + +"They'd better love you," said Uncle John. "If they don't, they'll get +the stick. But don't fret, Margaret; I am not going to fret, and I shall +not let you do it. The little girl seems slightly abnormal, at first +sight; but the boys--" + +"Yes, Uncle John?" and Margaret raised her head and looked eagerly at +her uncle, hoping for some light that would make all clear to her. "The +boys?" + +"Why, the boys are just boys, my dear; nothing in the world but plain +boys. Two of 'em instead of four,--thank your stars that you are in +this generation instead of the last, my love; and now take this little +head off to bed, and don't let another anxious thought come into it. +Good night, my child." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +A NEWCOMER. + + +"If you please, Miss Margaret, the lady would like to speak to you, in +her room." + +"Miss Montfort?" (Elizabeth never would call Miss Sophronia Miss +Montfort.) "Yes, Elizabeth, I will be up in a moment; tell her, please." + +Hastily pinning her collar,--it was near breakfast-time, and she had +been longer than usual in dressing,--Margaret ran up to the Blue Room. +Miss Sophronia, in curl-papers and a long, yellow wrapper, was standing +near the window, apparently rigid with horror. + +"What is it, Cousin Sophronia? What can I do for you?" + +"Margaret, I told you,--I warned you. I warned John Montfort. No one can +say that I neglected my duty in this respect; my conscience is clear. +Now look,--I desire you, look out of that window, and tell me what you +think." + +Margaret looked. At first she saw nothing but the clear glass, and, +beyond it, the blue sky and waving trees. But, looking again, she became +aware of two objects dangling over the upper part of the pane; a black +object, and a white object; two small legs, one bare, the other in +stocking and shoe. The legs were swinging back and forth, keeping time +to a clear and lively whistle, and now and then one of them gave a +little kick, as of pure content. + +"Do you see?" demanded Miss Sophronia, in tragic tone. + +"Yes, Cousin Sophronia, I see. I can't think--but I'll run up at once +and see what it means, and bring the child down. I--" Margaret waited to +say no more, but flew up-stairs, only pausing to cast a hasty glance +into Susan D.'s room, the door of which stood open. The room was empty; +so, when she reached the top of the stairs, was the nursery. She entered +a small room that was used as a storeroom; its one window looked +directly on the roof, and this window stood wide open. Running to look +out, Margaret saw Susan D., seated astride of a gable, dangling her legs +as aforesaid, and apparently enjoying herself immensely. The whistle +stopped when she saw her cousin, and the cheerful look gave place to one +of sullenness. + +"Susan, my dear child, what are you doing here?" + +"Looking for my other stocking," replied the child. + +"Your stocking?" + +"Yes. I dropped it out of the window, and I came up here to look for +it." + +"She thought she could see better!" explained Basil, appearing suddenly +from behind the chimney. "I--good morning, Cousin Margaret. I slept very +well, thank you." + +"So did I!" chimed in Susan D., with suspicious readiness. "I slept very +well. Good morning, Cousin Margaret, thank you!" + +"That isn't right," said Basil, as Margaret looked in bewilderment from +one to the other; "you are such a stupid, Susan D. You see," he added, +turning to Margaret, "I've been telling her that she's got to have +better manners, and speak when she's spoken to; and, if she behaves +pretty well, she's going to get some hard stamps she wants; and if she +doesn't--" + +"I am," said Susan D. "Amn't I, Cousin Margaret?" + +It was the first time the child had addressed Margaret directly, and the +latter hastened to assure her that her morning greeting would do very +well indeed. "But, dear children," she cried, "I cannot let you stay +here. Indeed, you ought never to have come up; I don't believe Uncle +John would like to have you on the roof at all; and it is +breakfast-time, and Cousin Sophronia has been a good deal frightened, +Susie, at seeing your legs dangling over her window in this fashion." + +"We aren't hurting the old roof!" cried boy and girl, in eager +self-defence. + +"Oh, my dears! It isn't the roof, it's your precious necks, that you +might be breaking at this moment. How are you going to get back? Basil, +it makes me dizzy to look at you." + +"Then I wouldn't look," said Basil, cheerfully. "I'm all right, Cousin +Margaret, just truly I am. Why, I just live on roofs, every chance I +get. And this is a bully roof to climb on." + +Margaret covered her eyes with her hands, as the boy came tripping along +the ridge-pole towards her; but the next moment she put the hands down +resolutely. "Let me help you!" she said. "Susan, take my hand, dear, and +let me help you in." + +But Susan D. needed no helping hand; she scrambled up the slope of the +roof like a squirrel, and wriggled in at the window before Margaret +could lay hands on her. "I'm all right!" she said, shyly. "I didn't find +my stocking, though. I'll get another pair." But Margaret soon found the +stocking, and in due time could report to Cousin Sophronia that the +children were both safe on the ground, and more or less ready for +breakfast. Merton had not shared in the roof expedition; he had climbed +the great chestnut-tree instead, and appeared at breakfast with most of +the buttons off his jacket, and a large barn-door tear in his +knickerbockers. + +Miss Sophronia greeted the children with firmness. "How do you do, my +dears?" she said. "I am your Cousin Sophronia, and I shall take the +place of a mamma to you while you are here. If you do as I tell you, we +shall get on very well, I dare say. You are Basil? Yes, you look like +your Uncle Reuben. You remember Reuben, John? What a troublesome boy he +was, to be sure! And this is Merton. H'm! Yes! The image of his father. +Anthony; to be sure! And what is your name, child? Susan D.? Ah, yes! +For your Aunt Susan, of course. And are you a good girl, Susan D.?" + +Susan D. hung her head, and looked defiant. + +"Always answer when you are spoken to," said the lady, with mild +severity. "I'm afraid your father has let you run wild; but we will +alter all that. Little boy--Merton, I mean, you are taking too much +sugar on your porridge. Too much sugar is very bad for children. Hand me +the bowl, if you please. I am obliged to take a good deal of sugar--the +doctor's orders! There are one--two--three buttons off your jacket. This +will never do!" + +"I scraped 'em off, shinning up the tree," said Merton, sadly. "I barked +all my shins, too; but I found the squirrel's nest." + +"Oh, Merton, you didn't meddle with it?" cried Margaret. "That little +squirrel is so tame, I should be very sorry to have him teased. You +didn't tease him, did you, dear?" + +Merton looked injured. "I just put my hand into his old hole, and he bit +me, nasty thing! I'll kill him, first chance I get." + +"You will do nothing of the kind," said Mr. Montfort, quietly. "You will +let the squirrel alone, Merton, or I shall have to stop the climbing +altogether. You understand?" + +"Yes, sir," said Merton. "Ow! you stop that, now!" + +"Did you speak to me, sir?" inquired Mr. Montfort, politely. + +"Well, he kicked my sore shin," growled Merton, glaring savagely at +Basil. Basil chuckled gleefully. Mr. Montfort looked from one to the +other. + +"Kick each other as much as you like out-of-doors," he said. "Here, you +can either behave yourselves or leave the table. Take your choice." He +spoke very quietly, and went on with his letter, without another glance +at the boys; indeed, no second glance was needed, for the children +behaved remarkably well through the rest of breakfast. + +That morning was a trying time for Margaret. She tried hard to remember +her uncle's parting words, as he drove away: "Let them run, these first +few days, and don't worry; above all, don't worry!" + +[Illustration: "MERTON WAS TEASING CHIQUITO."] + +Yes, but how could she help worrying? If it had been only running! But +these children never seemed content to stay on their feet for ten +minutes together. Now they were turning somersaults round and round the +grass-plot, till her head grew dizzy, and Cousin Sophronia screamed +from the window that they would all be dead of apoplexy in less than ten +minutes. Now they were hanging by their heels from the lower branches of +the horse-chestnut tree, daring each other to turn a somersault in the +air and so descend. Now Merton was teasing Chiquito, and getting his +finger bitten, and howling, while Basil jeered at him, and wanted to +know whether a sixty-year-old bird was likely to stand "sauce" from a +ten-year-old monkey. Now Susan D. had caught her frock on a bramble, and +torn a long, jagged rent across the front breadth, that filled Margaret +with despair. Poor Susan D.! By afternoon, Miss Sophronia had taken her +into custody, and marched her off to her own room, to stay there till +bedtime. + +"The child was rebellious, my dear Margaret; positively disrespectful. A +little discipline, my love, is what that child needs. It is my duty to +give it to her, and I shall do my duty cheerfully. At your age, it is +not to be expected that you should know anything about children. Leave +all to me, and you will be surprised at the result. A firm rein for a +few weeks,--I shall manage her, never fear!" + +Margaret was humble-minded, and fully conscious of her total lack of +experience; still, she could not feel that a system of repression was +the one most likely to succeed with Susan D. + +"If we could win the child's affection," she began, timidly. Miss +Sophronia pounced upon her. + +"My love, you naturally think so! Believe me, I know what I am talking +about. I have practically brought up William's children; the result is +astonishing, everybody says so." (Everybody did, but their astonishment +was hardly what the good lady fancied it.) "Trust,--dearest Margaret, +simply confide absolutely in me! So important, I always say, for the +young to have entire confidence in their elders." + +Margaret was thankful when dinner was over, and her cousin gone to take +her afternoon nap. Basil was in a lowering mood, the result of his +sister's imprisonment. He would do nothing but rage against Cousin +Sophronia, so Margaret was finally obliged to send him away, and sit +down with a sigh to her work, alone. + +It was very pleasant and peaceful on the verandah. The garden was hot +and sunny at this hour, but here the shade lay cool and grateful, and +Margaret felt the silence like balm on her fretted spirit. It was all +wrong that she should be so fretted; she argued with herself, scolded, +tried to bring herself to a better frame of mind; but nature was too +strong for her, and the best she could do was to resolve that she would +try, and keep on trying, her very best; and that Uncle John should not +know how worried she was. That, surely, she could manage: to keep a +smiling face when he was at home, and to made light of all these hourly +pin-pricks that seemed to her sensitive nature like sword-thrusts. + +So quiet! Only the sound of the soft wind in the great chestnut-trees, +and the clear notes of a bird in the upper branches. A rose-breasted +grosbeak! Her uncle had been teaching her something about birds, and she +knew this beautiful creature, and loved to watch him as he hovered +about the nest where his good wife sat. His song was almost like the +oriole's, Margaret thought. She laid down her embroidery, and watched +the flashes of crimson appear and disappear. What a wonderful, beautiful +thing! How good to live in the green country, where lovely sights and +sounds were one's own, all day long. Why should one let oneself be +distressed, even if things did not go just to one's mind? + +A soft cloud seemed to be stealing over her spirit; it was not sleep, +but just a waking dream, of peace and beauty, and the love of all lovely +things in the green and blossoming world, where life floated by to the +music of birds,-- + +"I beg your pardon, Miss Margaret; were you asleep, miss?" + +Margaret sat upright, and looked a little severe. It would never do even +to look as if she had been asleep, in the middle of the afternoon. "No, +Elizabeth," she said. "What is wanted?" + +"Only miss, Frances was wishful to know whether she should keep Master +Merton's dinner any longer, or whether she'd cook something fresh for +him along with his supper." + +No more dreaming for Margaret! She sprang to her feet, suddenly +conscious of the fact that Merton had not been seen for several hours. +It could not have been more than eleven o'clock when he was in her room; +now-- "What time is it, Elizabeth?" + +"Going on five, Miss Margaret. Mr. Montfort'll soon be here, miss; maybe +Master Merton might have gone to meet him." + +Margaret shook her head; that did not seem at all likely. She hailed +Basil, who came sauntering up the gravel walk, his brow still clouded, +kicking the pebbles before him. + +"Oh, Basil, have you seen Merton? He has not been in the house since +this morning, and I am anxious about him." + +Basil shrugged his shoulders. "Run away, most likely!" he said, +carelessly. "He's always running away, Mert is." + +"Always running away! But where could he run to, Basil? He does not know +his way about here. He surely would not run away in a strange place." + +Basil smiled superior. "That's just why he'd do it. He likes to find out +new places; we both do. I wouldn't leave Susan D., or I'd have gone, +too, bet I would. No use staying here, to be bossed round." + +"Oh, Basil, don't talk so, but help me, like a dear boy, to find +Merton." + +Basil stood uncertain. He raised a threatening glance towards Miss +Sophronia's window; but Margaret was beside him in a moment. "Basil, to +please me!" she said. She laid her hand on the boy's shoulder. He stood +still, and Margaret had a moment of painful doubt; but the next instant +he raised his face to her with his own enchanting smile. "All right!" he +said. "You are all right, Cousin Margaret, whatever other folks are, and +I'll help you every single bit I can." + +"That's my good, helpful boy!" said Margaret, heartily. "Oh, Basil, you +and I together can do a great deal, but alone I feel rather helpless. +You shall be my little--no, not little--you shall be my brother, and +tell me how to manage Merton and Susan, and make them love me. But the +first thing is to find Merton. What can have become of the child? Where +shall we look for him?" + +"I think perhaps down by the bog," said Basil, looking very important +and pleased with his new responsibility. "He said he was going down +there, first chance he got. I meant to go, too, but I won't if you don't +want me to, Cousin Margaret. There's a bully--" + +"Basil!" + +"There's a--a superb workman down there; do you know him, Cousin +Margaret? I guess he's the boss, or something. He wears blue overalls +and a blue jumper, and he can vault--oh my! how that fellow can vault!" + +"Basil, I don't feel at all sure that your uncle would wish you to be +talking with strange workmen. At any rate, I think you ought to ask +leave, don't you?" + +"Maybe I ought!" said Basil, cheerfully. "But it's too late now, you +see, 'cause I have talked to him, quite lots, and he's awfully jolly. +Oh, Jonah! I do believe there he is now; and--Cousin Margaret! I do +believe he's got Mert with him! Look!" + +Margaret looked. A man was coming across the field that lay beyond the +garden wall; a workingman, from his blue overalls and jumper; a young +man, from the way he moved, and from his light, springy step. Margaret +could not see his face, but his hair was red; she could see that over +the burden that he carried in his arms. + +Coming nearer, this burden was seen to be a child. A chimney-sweeper? +No, for chimney-sweepers are not necessarily wet; do not drip black mud +from head to foot; do not run streams of black bog water. + +"Merton!" cried poor Margaret, who knew well the look of that mud and +water. "Oh, what has happened? Is--is he hurt?" she cried out, running +towards the wall. + +The young workman raised a cheerful face, streaked with black, and +presenting the appearance of a light-hearted savage in trim for a +funeral. + +"Not a bit hurt!" he called in return. "All right, only wet, and a +trifle muddy. Little chap's had a bath, that's all. Hope you haven't +been anxious about him." + +"Oh, yes, I have been anxious--thank you! You are sure--he has not been +in danger?" + +"Well," the stranger admitted, "just as well I was there, perhaps. It +isn't a safe place for children, you see. How are you now, old chap? He +was a bit dizzy when I picked him up, you see." + +Merton lifted his black head, and looked ruefully at Margaret. + +"You told me not to go!" he said. "I won't go again." + +"Well, I guess you won't!" cried Basil, excitedly. "Why, you've been in +all over; it's all up to your chin, and some of it's on the back of your +head. I say, you must--" + +The young man made him a sign quickly. "He's all right!" he said. "Mud +baths extremely hygienic; recommended by the medical fraternity; +a--where did you say I should put him?" + +"Oh, I beg your pardon!" cried Margaret. "I am letting you hold him all +this time, and you are getting all wet, too." + +"No consequence, not the least in the world. Besides,--past participle +perhaps more appropriate than present." + +Margaret led the way to the verandah, and the stranger finally deposited +his burden on the steps. Looking down at himself, he seemed for the +first time aware of his singular appearance, for he blushed, and, +lifting his cap, was turning away with a muttered apology, in which the +word "clothes" was the only word Margaret could hear. + +"Oh!" she cried, "you are not going yet! I--I have not thanked you! You +have saved the child's life, I know you have. I--I have seen something +of that bog," she shuddered. "Mr. Montfort will want to see you, and +thank you himself. Do at least tell me your name, so that we may know +who it is that has done us this great service." + +But here the young man caught sight of his face, reflected in a +window-pane, and lost the last vestige of self-possession. "If--if +you'll excuse me," he cried, "I think I'll go before Mr. Montfort comes. +The costume of a Mohawk on the war-path--effective, but unusual; +a--call to-morrow if I may, to see if the little chap is all right. Mr. +Montfort kindly asked me--good day!" + +"But you haven't told her your name!" Basil shouted after him. + +"Oh! Of course!--a--Merryweather! Gerald Merryweather." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +"I MUST HELP MYSELF." + + + "DEAR MARGARET: + + "I find a telegram here which obliges me to run + on to Philadelphia at once. I may be away all + the week; do as well as you can, dear child, + and don't let B., M., and S. D. tear you to + pieces. I forgot to tell you that the young man + in charge of the bog-draining turns out to be + the son of an old friend of mine, Miles + Merryweather. I asked him to come up to the + house; if he should come while I am away, you + will be good to him. I will let you know by + telegraph when to expect me. + + "Always affectionately yours, + "JOHN MONTFORT." + +Margaret read this brief letter with a sinking heart. How was she to +keep up without Uncle John? How was she to cope with all the +difficulties that beset her path like sharp-thorned briers? If she had +but Aunt Faith--if she had but some one to turn to! She had tried to +take counsel with Mrs. Peyton, but the beautiful woman was still, at +fifty, a spoiled child, far younger in many ways than Margaret herself; +she would only laugh, and advise her to get rid of Miss Sophronia by +some trick, or practical joke. + +"Freeze her out, my dear! Get rid of her, somehow! That is all the +advice I can give you. And bring the young barbarians to see me; I am +sure they will amuse me." + +Margaret had just been acting on this last request. She had taken the +two boys to see the invalid, and had left them there now, coming away +with a sore and angry heart. Mrs. Peyton had been drawing the children +out, laughing at their remarks about their cousin, and paying no regard +to Margaret's entreaties. At length Margaret had simply come away, with +no more than a brief "Good afternoon!" feeling that she could not trust +herself to say more. Emily Peyton only laughed; she had full confidence +in her charm, and thought she could bring back her puritanical little +friend whenever she chose to smile in a particular way; meanwhile, the +children were a new toy, and amused her. + +But Margaret felt that she had had almost enough of Mrs. Peyton. Beauty +was a great deal, charm and grace were a great deal more; but they did +not take the place of heart. No, there was no one to help her! Well, +then she must help herself, that was all! + +She stood still, her mind full of this new thought. She was eighteen +years old; she was well and strong, and possessed of average +intelligence. "Look here!" she said suddenly, aloud. "If you cannot +manage those children, why, I am ashamed of you. Do you hear?" + +The other self, the timid one, did hear, and took heart. The girl felt +new strength coming to her. The world had changed, somehow; the +giants,--were they only windmills, after all? Up, lance, and at them! + +In this changed mood she went on, humming a little song to herself. As +she drew near the wood that skirted the bog, the song was answered by +another, trolled in a cheerful bass voice: + + "The lady was pleased for to see him so bold; + She gave him her glove that was flowered with gold; + She said she had found it while walking around, + As she was a-hunting with her dog and her gun." + +The "blue boy," as she mentally called him, came dancing out of the +wood, throwing up his cap, and singing as he came. At sight of Margaret +he paused, in some confusion, cap in hand. + +"I--I beg your pardon," he said. "I trust I did not disturb you with my +carol? There isn't generally any one here, you know; I get rather to +feel as if it all belonged to me. I hope the little chap is all right +to-day, Miss--Is it Miss Montfort?" + +"Oh, yes! Certainly!" said Margaret, blushing in her turn. "I ought to +have said, of course--yes, thank you, Mr. Merryweather, Merton is quite +well to-day; and I really think he has had a lesson, for he has not run +away since, and it is two or three days ago. I--my uncle has been +suddenly called away on business, but he asked me to say--that is, we +shall be very glad to see you at the house any day; Miss Montfort, his +cousin,--my uncle's cousin,--is there with me and the children." + +"Thanks awfully," murmured Gerald. "I'd like to come ever so much, some +day; but I keep all in a mess so--" he glanced down ruefully at his blue +clothes, and finding them quite respectably clean, brightened visibly. +"My father was at school with Mr. Montfort; Miles Merryweather, perhaps +he told you, Miss Montfort?" + +"Yes, he told me. I--I always think Uncle John must have been such a +delightful boy. I am sure they must have had good times together." + +"So was the Pater, no end; I mean, my father was an agreeable youth +also." Gerald stopped short, and glanced sidelong at the young girl. He +was well used to girls, having sisters and cousins; but they were used +to him, too, and he somehow felt that this sweet, serious-looking maiden +was not accustomed to young men, and that he must, as he silently put it +to himself, "consider the prudent P, and the quaintly quiggling Q." + +"And Uncle John must have been a brilliant scholar!" Margaret went on, +warming to her subject. She had never, as it happened, walked and talked +with a lad before in her quiet life; she did not know quite how to do +it, but so long as she talked about Uncle John, she could not go wrong. +"He knows so much,--so much that he must have learned early, because it +is so a part of him. Wasn't he head of his class most of the time? He +never will talk about it, but I am sure he must have been." + +"I am not so sure about that," Gerald admitted; "I know he was the best +wrestler, and that he and my father were generally neck and neck in all +the running races. He was a better high kick, because his legs were +longer, don't you know, but the Pater was ahead in boxing." + +Margaret was bewildered. Was this scholarship? Was this the record that +brilliant boys left behind them? She gave a little sigh; the mention of +long legs brought her back to Basil again. Dear Basil! he had only one +pair of knickerbockers left that was fit to be seen. She ought to be +mending the corduroys this moment, in case he should come home all in +pieces, as he was apt to do. + +"Have you any little brothers, Mr. Merryweather?" she asked, following +the thread of her thought. + +"One; Willy. That is, he's not so very little now, but he's a good bit +younger than Phil and I; Phil is my twin. Willy--oh, I suppose he must +be fourteen, or somewhere about there, to a field or two." + +"Basil is twelve," said Margaret, thoughtfully. "And does he--or did he, +two years ago,--I suppose a boy develops very quickly,--did he want to +be climbing and jumping and running _all_ the time?" + +"Let me see!" said Gerald, gravely. "Why--yes, I should say so, Miss +Montfort. Of course he stops now and then to eat; and then there's the +time that he's asleep, you know; you have to take out that. But +otherwise,--yes, I should say you had described Willy's existence pretty +well." + +"And climbing on roofs?" Margaret went on. "And tumbling into bogs, and +turning somersaults? What _can_ be the pleasure of turning oneself +wrong side up and getting the blood into one's head?" + +Margaret stopped suddenly, and the colour rushed into her face; no need +of somersaults in her case. For had not this young man been turning +somersaults the first time she saw him? And turning them in the same +senseless way, just for the joy of it, apparently? She glanced at him, +and he was blushing too; but he met her look of distress with one so +comic in its quizzical appeal, that she laughed in spite of herself. + +"I love to turn somersaults!" he murmured. "'Twas the charm of my +chirping childhood; it is now the solace of my age. Don't be severe, +Miss Montfort. I turn them now, sometimes; I will not deceive you." + +"Oh! oh, yes, I know!" said Margaret, timidly, but still laughing in +spite of herself. "I--I saw you the other day, Mr. Merryweather. I +thought--you seemed to be enjoying yourself very much." + +"No! Did you, though?" cried Gerald. "I say! Where was it? I never meant +to do it when people were round. I'm awfully sorry." + +"Oh, no!" said Margaret, confused. "Why shouldn't you? It--it was by the +edge of the bog. I had come round that way, and you were leaping with a +pole about the bog, and I--stayed to watch you. I hope you don't mind;" +this foolish girl was blushing again furiously, which was most +unnecessary; "and--I thought you must be a foreigner; I don't know why. +And--and then you came out, and turned a somersault, and--I wondered +why, that was all. You see, I never had a brother, and I have never +known any boys in all my life till now. I don't mean that you are a boy, +of course!" + +"Oh, but I _am_!" cried Gerald. "What else am I but a boy? I wish they +could hear you at home. Why, I'm just Jerry, you know, and--and I've +always been that kind of boy, I'm afraid; just like Willy, only a good +deal worse. And now--well, I've been through college, and now I'm in the +School of Mines, and I'm twenty-one, and all that, but I can't seem to +make myself feel any older, don't you know. I don't know what's going to +become of me. Hilda says I won't grow up till I fall--oh! you don't +know Hilda, do you, Miss Montfort?" + +"Hilda?" repeated Margaret. "I only know Hilda in the 'Marble Faun.'" + +"Hildegarde Merryweather; Hildegarde Grahame she used to be. I thought +you might possibly have--well, she's my aunt according to the flesh. I +wish you did know her!" + +"Your aunt? Is she--is she about Uncle John's age? I know so few people, +you see. I have lived a very quiet life." + +"Oh, no! She--well, I suppose she's a little older than you, but not +very much. She married Roger, don't you know. He's my half-uncle all +right, but he's ever so many years younger than the Pater, nearer our +age, you might almost say; and Hildegarde and the girls, my sisters,--I +say! I wish you knew them all, Miss Montfort." + +"I wish I did," said Margaret, simply. "There are no girls of my own age +near here. Last year I had my cousins, and I miss them so much!" + +"Of course you must!" said sympathetic Gerald. "Girls are no end--I--I +mean, I like them too, ever so much." He paused, and wished he knew the +right thing to say. How pretty and sweet she was! Not like Hilda, of +course (Hilda was this young man's ideal of what a girl should be), but +with a little quiet way of her own that was very nice. She must have no +end of a time of it with these youngsters! He spoke his thought aloud. +They were nearing Fernley, and he must leave her soon. "You must be +having some difficulty with those youngsters, Miss Montfort. If I could +help you any time, I wish you'd let me know. There have always been such +a lot of us at home, I'm used to most kinds of children, you see; and I +should be ever so glad--" + +[Illustration: "'Won't you come in?'"] + +"Oh, thank you!" said Margaret, gratefully. "I am sure you are very +kind; and if you would advise me sometimes--now that Uncle John is +away--I should be most grateful. But--I ought to be able to manage them +myself, it seems to me, without help. If I can only make them love me!" +She looked straight at Gerald, and her dark gray eyes were very +wistful in their unconscious appeal. + +"I'd like to see 'em not!" said the young man, straightway. "Little +beggars! They couldn't help themselves!" He was about to add that he +would thrash them handsomely if they did not love her, but pulled +himself together, and blushed to his ears, and was only comforted by +seeing out of the tail of his eye that the girl was wholly unconscious +of his blushes. After all, there was some sense in freckles and sunburn. + +But here they were now at the gates of Fernley. "Won't you come in?" +said Margaret. But Gerald, becoming once more conscious of his +working-clothes, which he had entirely forgotten, excused himself. If he +might come some evening soon? Yes, he might, and should. He lingered +still a moment, and Margaret, after a moment's shyness, held out her +hand frankly. "I am so glad to know you!" she said, simply. "Uncle +John--Mr. Montfort said I was to be good to you, and I will try." + +"I'm sure you couldn't be anything else!" said Gerald, with fervour. +"Thanks, awfully, Miss Montfort. Good-bye!" Lifting his cap, the young +man turned away, feeling homesick, and yet cheerful. Passing round the +corner of the house, and finding himself well out of sight of the young +girl, he relieved his feelings by turning a handspring; and on coming to +his feet again, encountered the awful gaze of two greenish eyes, bent +upon him from an upper window of the house. + +"Now I've done it!" said the youth, brushing himself, and assuming all +the dignity of which he was master. "Wonder who that is? Housekeeper, +perhaps? Quite the Gorgon, whoever it is. Wish I didn't turn over so +easily." + +Margaret went into the house singing, with a lighter heart than she had +felt since Uncle John's letter came. Perhaps she had made a friend; at +any rate, a pleasant acquaintance. What a frank, nice, gentlemanly--boy! +"For he is a boy, just as he says!" she acknowledged to herself. And +what kind, honest eyes he had; and how thoughtful to offer to help her +with the children! + +Her pleasant meditations were harshly interrupted. Miss Sophronia came +down-stairs, with her brown and yellow shawl drawn over her shoulders; +this, Margaret had learned, was a bad sign. + +"Margaret, who was that young man? I saw you! There is no use in +attempting to conceal anything from me, my dear. I saw you talking with +a young man at the gate." + +"Why should I conceal it?" asked Margaret, wondering. "It was Mr. +Merryweather, Cousin Sophronia. He was a schoolmate of Uncle John's,--I +mean his father was." + +"Stuff and nonsense!" cried the lady, sharply. "Don't tell me anything +of the kind, miss. He was a common workman, a day-labourer. I tell you I +saw him! Do you suppose I have no eyes in my head? I shall consider it +my duty to tell your uncle as soon as he comes home. I am surprised at +you, Margaret. I thought at least you were discreet. William's daughters +would no more think of talking with such a person--but that comes of +leaving a young person alone here with servants. My dear, I shall make +it a point henceforward--" + +She stopped; for the gentle Margaret turned upon her with eyes of fire. +"Cousin Sophronia, I cannot listen to this; I will not listen! I am a +gentlewoman, and must be spoken to as a gentlewoman. I am eighteen years +old, and am accountable to no one except Uncle John for my behaviour. +Let me pass, please! I want to go to my room." + +The girl swept by, her head high, her cheeks burning with righteous +wrath. Miss Sophronia gazed after her speechless; it was as if a dove +had ruffled its wings and flown in her face. "Ungrateful girl!" said the +lady to herself. "I never meet with anything but ingratitude wherever I +go. She is as bad as those girls of William's, for all her soft looks. +The human heart is very, very depraved. But I shall do my duty, in spite +of everything." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE SECOND CONQUEST. + + +The boys came home late for tea that night, bubbling over with joy. +Basil declared that they did not want any supper. "Mrs. Peyton gave us +some of her supper. I say, Cousin Margaret, isn't she bully?" + +"Basil, if you _could_ find another adjective now and then! I cannot +imagine anything less appropriate to Mrs. Peyton than--the one you +used." + +"Oh, well, it doesn't matter! She _is_ bully! She had broiled chicken, a +whole one, and she just took a little piece off the breast for herself, +and then she told Mert and me each to take a leg and run. And we did! +And Mert sat down in the china bath-tub with his, and smashed +it,--cracked it, at least,--and she said she didn't care." + +"And the table-drawer was full of chocolate peppermints," chimed in +Merton, "and we ate so many, I don't feel very well now, I think, +p'r'aps." + +"And she told us lots of things!" cried Basil again; he looked towards +Miss Sophronia, with sparkling eyes. "She told us about when she was a +little girl, and used to stay here, when Uncle John's puppa and mumma +were alive. I say! And you were here, too, she said, Cousin Sophronia. +And she said--lots of things!" The boy stopped suddenly, and gave his +brother a look of intelligence. + +"Ho!" said Merton, "I know what you mean,--you mean about the ghost, +that scared--I say! You stop pinching, will you? I'll punch your--" + +"Merton!" said Margaret, warningly. + +"Well, he was pinching me!" whined Merton. "And it did scare you, didn't +it, Cousin Sophronia?" + +Miss Sophronia looked disturbed. "Merton, you should speak when you are +spoken to!" she said, severely. "I am surprised that Mrs. Peyton should +have told you such things. There certainly were some very strange +occurrences at Fernley, Margaret, when I was a young girl. They never +were explained to my satisfaction; indeed, I never heard of their being +explained at all. Little boys, if you do not want any supper, you may as +well run away. I do not approve of their going to see Emily Peyton, +Margaret. I shall make a point of their not doing so in future. She was +always malicious." + +She seemed much fluttered, and Margaret, wondering, hastened to change +the subject. "I wonder where Susan D. can be. I have not seen the child +since I came in, and she did not answer when I called her. Elizabeth, do +you--" + +"Pardon me, Margaret, my love!" Miss Sophronia interposed. "Susan D. is +in bed; I sent her to bed an hour ago." + +"Oh, Cousin Sophronia! Without her supper? What had she done?" + +"She was disobedient, my dear,--disobedient and impertinent. I have no +doubt that this will have an excellent effect upon the child. Basil, +what do you want? I told you to go away." + +"Cousin Margaret, could I speak to you a moment, please?" asked the boy. + +"I will come to you, Basil," said Margaret, quickly. "Will you excuse +me, Cousin Sophronia, please? I have quite finished. Now, Basil, what is +it?" + +She led the boy carefully out of earshot, for thunder and lightning were +in his face, and she foresaw an outburst. + +"Susan D. is in bed!" cried Basil. "She has had no supper at all; +Elizabeth said so. That woman sent her. Cousin Margaret, I won't stand +it. I--I'll set fire to her clothes! I'll shoot her! I'll--I'll kill her +some way--" + +Margaret laid her hand over the boy's mouth. "You will be silent!" she +said. "Not a word, not a syllable, till you can speak like a civilised +being. We will have no savages here." + +Basil said no word,--he knew well enough when he must obey,--but he set +his teeth, and clenched his fists; the veins on his temples swelled, his +whole childish frame shook with anger. Margaret had never seen any one, +not even Rita, in such a passion as this. For a few moments, the two +stood motionless, facing each other. Then Margaret took the boy's hand +in hers, and led him out into the garden. Still holding his hand, she +paced up and down the green walk in silence, Basil following obediently. +The evening was falling soft and dusk; the last bird was chirping +sleepily; the air was full of the scent of flowers. Behind the dark +trees, where the sun had gone down, the sky still glowed with soft, +yellow light. "See!" said Margaret, presently. "There is the first star. +Let us wish! Oh, Basil dear, let us wish--and pray--for a good thing, +for strength to overcome--ourselves." + +The boy's hand pressed hers convulsively, but he did not speak at first. +Presently he said, almost in a whisper, "She is so little,--and so thin! +I told Mother I would take care of her. But--I said--I would try not to +let go of myself, too." + +Very tenderly Margaret drew the child down beside her, on a rustic +bench that stood under one of the great tulip-trees. In the quiet +darkness, she felt his heart open to her even more than it had done yet. +In the hour that followed, she learned the story of a wild, faithful +nature, full of mischief, full of love. The passionate love for his +mother, whom he remembered well; the faithful, scowling devotion to the +little sister, whom no one should scold but himself, and whom he shook, +and bullied, and protected with a sole eye to her good; all this, and +much more, Margaret learned. The two sat hand in hand, and took counsel +together. "Oh, it is so good to have some one to talk to," cried Basil. + +"Isn't it, dear?" said Margaret. "Now you know how I feel with Uncle +John away; and--oh, Basil, before I had Uncle John,--when my father +died,--oh, my dear! But you are going to be my brother now, Basil,--my +dear, dear little brother, aren't you? And you will tell me how to make +Susan D. love me. I think you do love me a little already, don't you, +Basil?" + +For all answer, Basil threw his arms round her, and gave her such a hug +as made her gasp for breath. + +"Dear boy," cried Margaret, "don't--kill me! Oh, Basil! I tried to hug +Susan D. the other day, and I might as well have hugged the door! She +won't even let me kiss her good night; that is, she lets me, but there +is no response. Why doesn't she like me, do you think?" + +"She does!" said Basil. "Or she will, soon as she can get out of +herself. Don't you know what I mean, Cousin Margaret? It's as if she had +a dumb spirit, like that fellow in the Bible, don't you know? Nobody but +me understands; but you will, just once you get inside." + +"Ah, but how shall I ever get inside?" said Margaret. + +Basil nodded confidently. "You will!" he said. "I know you will, some +time. Oh, Cousin Margaret, mayn't I take her something to eat? She's +always hungry, Susan D. is, and I know she won't sleep a mite if she +doesn't have anything. I--no, I won't let go again, but it _is_ the +meanest, hatefullest thing that ever was done in the world! Now isn't +it, Cousin Margaret? Don't you think so yourself?" + +Sorely puzzled as to the exact path of duty, Margaret tried to explain +to the boy how ideas of discipline had changed since Cousin Sophronia +was a young girl; how, probably, she had herself been brought up with +rigid severity, and, never having married, had kept all the old +cast-iron ideas which were now superseded by wider and better knowledge +and sympathy. As to this particular point, what should she say? Her +whole kind nature revolted against the thought of the hungry child, +alone, waking, perhaps weeping, with no one to comfort her; yet how +could she, Margaret, possibly interfere with the doings of one old +enough to be her mother? + +Pondering in anxious perplexity, she chanced to raise her eyes to the +house. It was brightly lighted, and, as it happened, the curtains had +not been drawn. "Look!" said Margaret, pressing the boy's hand in hers. +"Basil, look!" + +One long, narrow window looked directly upon the back stairs, which led +from the servants' hall to the upper floor. Up these stairs, past the +window, a figure was now seen to pass, swiftly and stealthily; a portly +figure, carrying something that looked like a heaped up plate; the +figure of Frances the cook. It passed, and in a moment more they saw +light, as of an opening door, flash into the dark window of the corner +room where the little girl slept. + +"Do you know, Basil," said Margaret, "I wouldn't worry any more about +Susan D.'s being hungry. There is one person in Fernley whom no one, not +even Uncle John, can manage; that is Frances." + +An hour or so later, Margaret was coming down from the nursery. Merton +had announced, as bedtime drew near, that he "felt a pain;" and Margaret +had no difficulty in tracing it to Mrs. Peyton's careless indulgence. +She stole down quietly to the cheerful back room where Frances and +Elizabeth sat with their sewing, and begged for some simple remedy. +Frances rose with alacrity. "Checkerberry cordial is what you want, +Miss Margaret," she said. "I've made it for thirty years, and I hope I +know its merits. No wonder the child is sick. If some had their way, +everybody in this house 'ud be sick to starvation." + +"I am afraid it was the other thing in this case, Frances," said +Margaret, meekly. "I'm afraid Master Merton ate too many rich things at +Mrs. Peyton's." Now in general, Frances could not abide patiently the +mention of Mrs. Peyton; but this time she declared she was glad the +child had had enough to eat for once. "'Twill do him no harm!" she said, +stoutly. "Give him ten drops of this, Miss Margaret, in a wine-glass of +hot water,--wait a minute, dear, and I'll mix it myself,--and he'll turn +over and go to sleep like a lamb. Treating children as if they was one +half starch and t'other half sticks! Don't tell me!" + +Knowing that none of this wrath was directed against herself, Margaret +wisely held her tongue, and departed with her glass, leaving Frances +still muttering, and Elizabeth with lips pursed up in judicious silence. +And Merton took it and felt better, and was glad enough to be petted a +little, and finally to be tucked up with the hot water-bottle for a +comforter. + +As has been said, Margaret was coming down-stairs after this mission was +fulfilled, when she met Miss Sophronia coming up. "All quiet up-stairs, +my dear?" said the lady. "I am going to bed myself, Margaret, for I feel +a little rheumatic, or I should rather say neuralgic, perhaps. These +things are very obscure; the doctor says my case is a very remarkable +one; he has never seen another like it. Yes, and now I am going to make +sure that this child is all right, and that she does not actually need +anything. Duty, Margaret, is a thing I can never neglect." + +Margaret followed her cousin into the room, feeling rather +self-reproachful. Perhaps she had been unjust in her judgment. Cousin +Sophronia was of course doing the best, or what she thought the best, +for this poor wild little girl. + +Miss Sophronia advanced towards the bed, holding up her candle. +Margaret, looking over her shoulder, saw the child lying fast asleep, +her hand under her cheek. Her face was flushed, and her fair hair lay in +a tangle on the pillow. Margaret had never seen her look so nearly +pretty. There were traces of tears on her face, too, and she sobbed a +little, softly, in her sleep. + +"Poor little thing!" whispered Margaret; but Miss Sophronia was not +looking at Susan D. now. With stiff, outstretched finger she pointed to +the floor. "Look at that!" she said, in a penetrating whisper. Indeed, +the child had dropped her clothes on the floor all at once, and they lay +in an untidy heap, shocking to Margaret's eyes, which loved to see +things neatly laid. She shook her head and was about to murmur some +extenuation of the offence, when--Miss Sophronia set down the candle on +the stand; then, with a quick, decided motion, she pulled the sleeping +child out of bed. "Susan D.," she said, "pick up your clothes at once. +Never let me find them in this condition again. Shocking!" + +The child stood helpless, bewildered, blinking, half awake, at the +light, not in the least understanding what was said to her. Miss +Sophronia took her by the shoulder, not unkindly, and repeated her +command. "Pick them up at once, my dear! Let this be a lesson to you, +never to leave your clothes on the floor again." Still only half +comprehending, the child stooped, stumbling as she did so, and picking +up the clothes, laid them on the chair as she was directed. + +"There!" said Miss Sophronia, in high satisfaction. "Now, my dearest +Margaret, you will see that this child will never neglect her clothes +again. A lesson promptly administered, on the spot, is worth all the +preaching in the world. Get into bed again, Susan D., and go to sleep +like a good child. Some day you will be very grateful to your Cousin +Sophronia for teaching you these things." + +She turned away with the candle. Margaret, standing in the shadow, saw +the child still standing in the middle of the room, a forlorn, shivering +little figure, silent; the most piteous sight those tender eyes had ever +looked upon. Softly the girl closed the door. "Margaret," she heard her +cousin say. "Oh, she is gone down-stairs!" and the steps went away +along the entry. But Margaret groped her way to where Susan D. stood; +the next moment she had the child in her arms, and was pressing her +close, close. A rocking-chair was by; she had seen it, and knew where to +lay her hand to draw it forward. She sank down in it, and rocked to and +fro, murmuring inarticulate words of comfort. The night was warm, but +still the child shivered; Margaret, groping again, found a shawl, and +wrapped it round her. There was no more holding off, no more resistance; +the little creature clung around Margaret's neck with a desperate hold, +as if she dared not let her go for an instant. Her breast heaved once or +twice, silently; then she burst into a passion of tears, and sobbed on +her cousin's heart. "I love you!" cried the child. "You are good, and I +love you! Don't--don't leave me alone, please don't!" + +Margaret held her close in her warm, loving arms. "My lamb!" she said. +"My little girl! Indeed I will not leave you. Quiet now, dearie; quiet +and don't cry! Oh, Susan D., I have no mother, either, dear; let us +love each other a great, great deal!" and Susan D. sobbed, and curled +closer yet, as if she would wind herself into the very heart that beat +so kindly and so tenderly. + +So they sat, till the sobs died away into soft, broken breathings. +Margaret began to sing, and crooned one after another the old songs that +Katy used to sing to her when she was rocked just so on that broad, +faithful Irish breast. Susan D. lifted her head a little towards her +ear. "What is it?" said Margaret, bending down. + +"I--I do like singing!" whispered the child. + +Margaret nodded, and sang on. By and by the almost frantic clasp of the +small arms loosened; the head sank back gently on her arm; the child was +asleep. Margaret rose to lay her down, but instantly she started up +again, affrighted, and cried out, and begged not to be left alone. What +was to be done? Margaret hesitated; then she bade the child hold fast, +and slowly, carefully she made her way down the stairs and through the +passage to her own room, and did not pause till the little child was +lying safe, happy, and wondering, in the white bed, in the wonderful +White Room. + +"Crowd me?" said Cousin Margaret. "Not a bit of it! There is plenty of +room, and in the morning we will have a most lovely cuddle, and tell +stories. But now go to sleep this very minute, Susan D., while I do my +hair. Good night, little sister!" + +"Good night!" said Susan D. "I love you! Good night!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE VOICE OF FERNLEY. + + +From that night, Susan D. was Margaret's friend and true lover. + +She followed her round in the hope of being able to do some little +service of love. She brought her flowers, and hunted the fields for the +largest and finest berries for her. At any hour of the day, Margaret +might feel a little hot hand slide into hers and deposit a handful of +warm, moist raspberries or blueberries. Sometimes this bred trouble, as +when Merton waylaid his sister, and wrested the hard-won treasures from +her for his own refreshment; with the result of shrieks and scuffling, +and a final thrashing from his elder brother; or, as when Cousin +Sophronia detected the child sidling along with closed palm, and +demanded to see what she had. Susan D. resisted stoutly, till at +length, yielding to superior strength, she threw the berries on the +floor, and trampled them into the carpet. There was a good deal of this +kind of thing; but still the change was a blessed one, and Margaret, +when she met the beaming look of love in the child's face, and +remembered the suspicious scowl that had greeted her only so few days +ago, was most thankful, and felt it to be worth any amount of trouble, +even to taking the spots out of the carpet, which was a hard thing to +do. + +"I told you!" said Basil, smiling superior. "I told you, once you got +inside, you'd find the kid not at all so bad. I say, Cousin Margaret, +you're not a fraidcat, are you?" + +"A what, Basil?" + +"A fraidcat! Don't you know what a fraidcat is, Cousin Margaret? Seems +to me you didn't learn many modern expressions when you were a little +girl, did you?" + +"Really, Basil, I think I learned all that were necessary," said +Margaret, laughing. "I did not learn slang, certainly, nor boy-jargon, +and I don't care to take lessons, thank you. Don't you think good, +plain English is good enough?" + +"Oh, well, it sounds all right from you, 'cause you are you, and you +wouldn't match yourself if you didn't talk that way, I suppose. But it +would sound silly for a boy to go on so, don't you see?" + +"I am afraid I don't see very well, Basil, but no matter. The things I +am afraid of are spiders and caterpillars and cows! Is that what you +wanted to know?" + +"N--not exactly!" said the boy; "but no matter, Cousin Margaret. You +haven't got a ball of twine, have you? Oh, yes, please! Thank you, that +is just exactly what I wanted. You always know where things are, don't +you? That's bully!" + +The children had been very good for the last few days; singularly good, +Margaret thought, as she sat on the verandah in the pleasant twilight, +reviewing the day's doings, and wondering what happy day would bring +Uncle John back to her. Certainly, he would find a good deal of +improvement. Merton had not run away since his experience in the bog; +Susan D. was won, and Basil grew more and more helpful and considerate. +More than that, the children, all three of them, seemed to have quieted +down of their own accord. At this hour, they were generally shouting and +screaming, racing over the grass, or tumbling headlong from the trees, +keeping Margaret in a constant state of terror, and Cousin Sophronia in +one of peevish irritation and alarm. But now they had gone of their own +will to the summer-house, saying that they were going to tell stories, +and see how quiet they could be. They were quiet, indeed, for she could +not even hear their voices. Cousin Sophronia, coming out with an +inquiry, became instantly suspicious, and declared she must go and see +what they were about; but Margaret begged her to wait a little. "They +can do no harm in the summer-house!" she said. "And--Uncle John thought +we would better let them alone a good deal, Cousin Sophronia." + +"My love," said the lady, seating herself, and folding her hands for a +good talk, "your Uncle John is a babe, simply a babe in these matters. +Even if he knew anything about children,--which he does not,--it would +be my duty, my positive duty, to shield him from all anxieties of this +kind. Why else did I come here, my love, except for this very thing?" + +"Did you, then, know that Cousin Anthony wished to send the children?" +asked Margaret, perhaps not without a spice of gentle malice. + +"Ahem! No, not precisely, my love! But--but it was my firm resolve to +protect dearest John from every species of annoyance. Every species, my +dear! John Montfort--good gracious! What is that?" She started to her +feet, and Margaret followed her example. A sound seemed to pass them in +the air; a strange sound, something between a sigh and a moan. It +swelled for a moment, then died away among the trees beyond the +verandah. Miss Sophronia clutched Margaret's arm. "You--you made that +noise?" she whispered. "Say it was you, Margaret!" + +"Indeed, it was not I, Cousin Sophronia!" said Margaret. "It must have +been a sudden gust of wind. It is gone now; it must surely have been +the wind. Shall I bring you a wrap? Do you feel chilly?" + +Miss Sophronia still held her arm. "No, no! Don't go!" she said. "I--I +feel rather nervous to-night, I think. Nerves! Yes, no one knows what I +suffer. If you had any idea what my nights are-- You may be right, my +dear, about the wind. It is a misfortune, I always say, to have such +exquisite sensibility. The expression is not my own, my love, it is +Doctor Soper's. Shall we go into the house, and light the lamps? So much +more cheerful, I always think, than this dreary twilight." + +Margaret hesitated a moment. The evening was very warm, and once in the +house, her cousin would be sure to shut all the windows and draw the +curtains. Still, she must not be selfish-- + +"If I join you in a few minutes, Cousin Sophronia?" she said. "The +children--I suppose it is time for them to come in. I will just go down +to the summer-house and see--" + +The sentence remained unfinished; for at that moment, almost close +beside them, arose the strange moaning sound once more. This time Miss +Sophronia shrieked aloud. "Come!" she cried, dragging Margaret towards +the house. "Come in this moment! It is the Voice! The Voice of Fernley. +I will not stay here; I will not go in alone. Come with me, Margaret!" + +She was trembling from head to foot, and even Margaret, who was not +timid about such matters, felt slightly disturbed. Was this some trick +of the children? She must go and hunt them up, naughty little things. +Ah! What was that, moving in the dusk? It was almost entirely dark now, +but something was certainly coming up the gravel walk, something that +glimmered white against the black box-hedges. Miss Sophronia uttered +another piercing shriek, and would have fled, but Margaret detained her. +"Who is that?" said the girl. "Basil, is that you? Where are the other +children?" + +The white figure advanced; it was tall and slender, and seemed to have +no head. Miss Sophronia moaned, and cowered down at Margaret's side. + +"I beg pardon!" said a deep, cheerful voice. "I hope nothing is wrong. +It is only I, Miss Montfort,--Gerald Merryweather." + +Only a tall youth in white flannels; yet, at that moment, no one, save +Uncle John himself, could have been more welcome, Margaret thought. "Oh, +Mr. Merryweather," she said, "I am so glad to see you! No, nothing is +wrong, I hope; that is--won't you come up on the verandah? My +cousin--Cousin Sophronia, let me present Mr. Merryweather." + +Mr. Merryweather advanced, bowing politely to the darkness; when, to his +amazement, the person to whom he was to pay his respects sprang forward, +and clutched him violently. + +"You--you--you abominable young man!" cried Miss Sophronia, shrilly. +"You made that noise; you know you made it, to annoy me! Don't tell me +you did not! Get away from here this instant, you--you--impostor!" + +Margaret was struck dumb for an instant, and before she could speak, +Gerald Merryweather was replying, quietly, as if he had been throttled +every day of his life: + +"If choking is your object, madam, you can do it better by pulling the +other way, I would suggest. By pulling in this direction, you see, you +only injure the textile fabric, and leave the _corpus delicti_ +comparatively unharmed." + +He stood perfectly still; Miss Sophronia still clutched and shook him, +muttering inarticulately; but now Margaret seized and dragged her off by +main force. "Cousin Sophronia!" she cried. "How can you--what can you be +thinking of? This is Mr. Merryweather, I tell you, the son of Uncle +John's old schoolmate. Uncle John asked him to call. I am sure you are +not well, or have made some singular mistake." + +"I don't believe a word of it!" said Miss Sophronia. "Not one single +word! What was he making that noise for, I should like to know?" + +Mr. Merryweather answered with a calm which he was far from feeling. His +pet necktie was probably ruined, his collar crumpled, very likely his +coat torn. He had taken pains with his toilet, and now he had been set +upon and harried, by some one he had never seen, but whom he felt sure +to be the Gorgon who had glared at him out the window several days +before. This was a horrid old lady; he saw no reason why he should be +attacked in the night by horrid old ladies, when he was behaving +beautifully. + +"I am sorry!" he said, rather stiffly. "I was not conscious of speaking +loud. Miss Montfort asked who it was, and I told her. If I have offended +_her_, I am ready to apologise--and withdraw." + +This sounded theatrical, it occurred to him; but then, the whole scene +was fit for the variety stage. Poor Margaret felt a moment of despair. +What should she do? + +"Mr. Merryweather," she said, aloud, "Miss Montfort has been much +startled. Just before you came, we heard a noise; rather a strange +noise, which we could not account for. I think her nerves are somewhat +shaken. She will be better in a moment. And--and I was just going to the +summer-house, to call the children. Would you come with me, I wonder?" + +Miss Sophronia clamoured that she could not be left alone, but for once +Margaret was deaf to her appeals. She was too angry; her guest--that +is, her uncle's guest--to be set upon and shaken, as if he were a +naughty child caught stealing apples,--it was too shameful! He would +think they were all out of their senses. + +"Oh, I am so sorry! So sorry!" she found herself saying aloud. "Mr. +Merryweather, I am so mortified, so ashamed! What can I say to you?" + +"Say!" said Gerald, his stiffness gone in an instant. "Don't say +anything, Miss Montfort. I--I don't mean that; I mean, there's nothing +_to_ say, don't you know? Why, it wasn't your fault! Who ever thought of +its being your fault?" + +"I ought to have recognised you sooner!" said Margaret. "It was pretty +dark, and we had really been startled, and my cousin is very nervous. If +you would _please_ overlook it this time I should be so grateful!" + +"Oh, I _say_!" cried the young man. "Miss Montfort, if you go on in this +way, I shall go back and ask the old--and ask the lady to choke me some +more. I--I _like_ being choked! I like anything; only don't go on so! +Why, it isn't any matter in the world. Perhaps it relieved her feelings +a bit; and it didn't do me any harm." He felt of his necktie, and +settled his collar as well as he could, thankful for the friendly +darkness. "Indeed, I am all right!" he assured her, earnestly. "Trivets +aren't a circumstance to me, as far as rightness is concerned. Now if +you'll forget all about it, Miss Montfort, please, I shall be as happy +as the bounding roe,--or the circumflittergating cockchafer!" he added, +as a large June-bug buzzed past him. + +"You are very good!" murmured Margaret. "I am sure--but here is the +summer-house. Children, are you here? Basil! Susan D.!" + +No answer came. The frogs chirped peacefully, the brook at the foot of +the garden sent up its soft, bubbling murmur; there was no other sound. +It was very dark, for the trees were thick overhead. The fireflies +flitted hither and thither, gleaming amid the thickets of honeysuckle +and lilac; the young man's figure beside her glimmered faintly in the +darkness, but there was no glimpse of Susan D.'s white frock, or +Basil's white head. + +"Children!" cried Margaret again. "Don't play any tricks, dears! It is +bedtime, and after, and you must come in. Susan, Cousin wants you, +dear!" + +Silence; not a rustle, not a whisper. + +"I should suppose they had gone," said Gerald. "Or do you think they are +playing hookey? Wait a minute, and I'll hunt around." + +But search availed nothing; the children were not in the summer-house, +nor near it. "They must have gone back to the house," said Margaret. +"Thank you so much, Mr. Merryweather. I am sorry to have given you all +this trouble for nothing." + +"Oh, trouble!" said Gerald. "This isn't my idea of trouble, Miss +Montfort. What a pretty place this is! Awfully--I mean, extremely +pretty." + +"It is pretty in the daytime. I should hardly think you could see +anything now, it is so dark." + +"Well, yes, it is dark; but I mean it seems such a pleasant place to +sit and rest in a little. Hadn't you better sit and rest a minute, Miss +Montfort? The children are all right, you may be sure. Gone to bed, most +likely, like good little kids. I--I often went to bed, when I was a +kid." + +Margaret could not help laughing; nevertheless, she turned decidedly +towards the house. "I am afraid I cannot be sure of their having gone to +bed," she said. "I think I must find them, Mr. Merryweather, but if you +are tired, you shall rest on the verandah while I hunt." + +Gerald did not want to rest on the verandah, particularly if his recent +assailant were still there. He wanted to stay here in the garden. He +liked the fireflies, and the frogs; the murmur of the brook, and the +soft voice speaking out of the darkness. He thought this was a very nice +girl; he wished she would not be so uneasy about those tiresome +youngsters. However, as there seemed to be no help for it, he followed +Margaret in silence up the gravel walk. She need not hurry so, he +thought; it was very early, not half past eight yet. He wanted to make +his call; he couldn't dress up like this every night; and, besides, it +was a question whether he could ever wear this shirt again by daylight. + +Miss Sophronia was not on the verandah. + +"Will you not come in?" asked Margaret at the door; but Gerald felt, +rather than heard, the uneasiness in her voice, and decided, much +against his inclination, that it would be better manners to say good +night and take himself off. + +"I think I must be going," he had begun already, when, from the open +door behind them, burst a long, low, melancholy wail. The girl started +violently. The young man bent his ear in swift attention. The voice--the +cry--trembled on the air, swelled to a shriek; then died slowly away +into a dreary whisper, and was gone. + +Before either of the young people could speak, the library door was +flung open, and a wild figure came flying out. Miss Sophronia threw +herself once more upon Gerald, and clung to him with the energy of +desperation. "My dear young man!" cried the distracted lady. "Save me! +Protect me! I knew your father! I was at school with your +mother,--Miranda Cheerley. Save me,--hold me! Do not desert me! You are +my only hope!" + +It was past nine o'clock when Gerald Merryweather finally took his +departure. The children had been discovered,--in bed, and apparently +asleep. Three neatly folded piles of clothes showed at least that they +had gone to bed in a proper and reasonable manner. Miss Sophronia +Montfort had finally been quieted, by soothing words and promises, +followed up by hot malted milk and checkerberry cordial, the latter +grimly administered by Frances, and so strong that it made the poor lady +sneeze. Margaret was to sleep with her; Gerald was to come the next +morning to see how she was; meanwhile, Frances and Elizabeth, the latter +badly frightened, the former entirely cool and self-possessed, were to +sleep in the front chamber, and be at hand in case of any untoward +event. + +There was nothing further to be done save to shake hands warmly with +Margaret, submit to an embrace from Miss Sophronia, and go. Mr. +Merryweather strode slowly down the garden path, looking back now and +then at the house, where already the lights on the lower floor were +being extinguished one by one. + +"That's a very nice girl!" he murmured. "Hildegarde would approve of +that girl, I know. But on the other hand, my son, that is a horrid old +lady. I should like--Jerry, my blessed infant, I _should_ like--to make +that old lady run!" He turned for a final glance at the house; +considered the advisability of turning a handspring; remembered his +white flannels, and, with a bow to the corner window, was gone in the +darkness. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +WHO DID IT? + + +"Frightened, was she?" said Mrs. Peyton. "How sad! Margaret, you are not +looking at my bed-spread. This is the first day I have used it, and I +put it on expressly for you. What is the use of my having pretty things, +if no one will look at them?" + +"Indeed, it is very beautiful!" said Margaret. "Everything you have is +beautiful, Mrs. Peyton." + +"It is Honiton!" said Mrs. Peyton. "It ought to be handsome. But you do +not care, Margaret, it is perfectly easy to see that. You don't care +about any of my things any more. I was simply a new toy to you in the +beginning, and you liked to look at me because I was pretty. Now you +have new toys,--Sophronia Montfort, I suppose, and a sweet plaything she +is! and you pay no further attention to me. Deny it if you can!" + +Margaret did not attempt to deny it; she was too absolutely truthful not +to feel a certain grain of fact in the lady's accusation. Life was +opening fuller and broader upon her every day; how could she think of +lace bed-spreads, with three children constantly in her mind, to think +and plan and puzzle for? To say nothing of Uncle John and all the rest. +And as to the "new toy" aspect, Margaret knew that she might well enough +turn the accusation upon her lovely friend herself; but this she was too +kind and too compassionate to do. Would not any one want toys, perhaps, +if forced to spend one's life between four walls? + +So she simply stroked the exquisite hand that lay like a piece of carved +ivory on the splendid coverlet, and smiled, and waited for the next +remark. + +"I knew you would not deny it!" the lady said. "You couldn't, you see. +Well, it doesn't matter! I shall be dead some day, I hope and trust. So +Sophronia was frightened? Tell me more about it!" + +"She was very much frightened!" said Margaret. "Mrs. Peyton, I wanted +to ask you--when the children came home yesterday, they said something +about your having told them some story of old times here; of a ghost, or +some such thing. I never heard of anything of the sort. Do you--do you +remember what it was? I ought not to torment you!" she added, +remorsefully; for Mrs. Peyton put her hand to her head, and her brow +contracted slightly, as if with pain. + +"Only my head, dear, it is rather troublesome to-day; I suppose I ought +not to talk very much! Yes, there was a ghost, or something like one, in +old times, when I was a child. I wasn't at Fernley at the time, but I +heard about it; Sophronia was there, and I remember she was frightened +into fits, just as you describe her last night." + +"What--do you remember anything about it? It isn't that old story of +Hugo Montfort, is it, the man who looks for papers?" + +"Oh, no, nothing so interesting as that! I always longed to see Hugo. +No, this is just a voice that comes and goes, wails about the rooms and +the gardens. It is one of the Montfort women, I believe, the one who +cut up her wedding-gown and then went mad." + +"Penelope?" + +"That's it! Penelope Montfort. Once in a while they see her, but very +rarely, I believe." + +"Mrs. Peyton, you are making fun of me. Aunt Faith told me there was no +ghost except that of Hugo Montfort; of course I don't mean that there is +really that; but no ghost that people had ever fancied." + +"Ah, well, my dear, all this was before Mrs. Cheriton came to Fernley! +Before such a piece of perfection as she was, no wandering ghost would +have ventured to appear. Now don't stiffen into stone, Margaret +Montfort! I know she was a saint, but she never liked me, and I am not a +saint, you see. I was always a sinner, and I expect to remain one. And +certainly, there was a white figure seen about Fernley, at that time I +was speaking of; and no one ever found out what it was; and if you want +to know any more, you must ask John Montfort. There, now my head is +confused, and I shall not have a straight thought again to-day!" + +The lady turned her head fretfully on the pillow. Margaret, who knew her +ways well, sat silent for some minutes, and then began to sing softly: + + O sweetest lady ever seen, + (With a heigh ho! and a lily gay,) + Give consent to be my queen, + (As the primrose spreads so sweetly.) + +Before the long ballad was ended, the line between Mrs. Peyton's +eyebrows was gone, and her beautiful face wore a look of contentment +that was not common to it. + +"Go away now!" the lady murmured. "You have straightened me out again. +Be thankful for that little silver voice of yours, child! You can do +more good with it in the world than you know. I really think you are one +of the few good persons who are not odious. Go now! Good-bye!" + +Margaret went away, thinking, as she had often thought before, how like +her Cousin Rita this fair lady was. "Only Rita has a great, great deal +more heart!" she said to herself. "Rita only laughs at people when she +is in one of her bad moods. Dear Rita! I wonder where she is to-day. +And Peggy is driving the mowing machine, she writes; mowing hundreds of +acres, and riding bareback, and having a glorious time." + +A letter had come the day before from Peggy Montfort, telling of all her +delightful doings on the farm, and begging that her darling Margaret +would come out and spend the rest of the summer with her. "Darling +Margaret, do, do, _do_ come! Nobody can possibly want you as much as I +do; nobody can begin to think of wanting you one hundredth part as much +as your own Peggy." + +Margaret had laughed over the letter, and kissed it, and perhaps there +was a tear in her eye when she put it away to answer. It was good, good +to be loved. And Peggy did love her, and so she hoped--she knew--did +Uncle John; and now the children were hers, two of them, at least; hers +to have and to hold, so far as love went. Go away and leave them now, +when they needed her every hour? "No, Peggy dear, not even to see your +sweet, round, honest face again." + +Coming back to the house she found Gerald Merryweather on the verandah. +He was in his working clothes again, but they were fresh and spotless, +and he was a pleasant object to look upon. He explained that he had +called to inquire for the ladies' health, and to express his hope that +they had suffered no further annoyance the night before. He was on his +way to the bog, and just thought he would ask if there was anything he +could do. + +"Thank you!" said Margaret, gratefully. "You are very good, Mr. +Merryweather. No; nothing more happened; and my poor cousin got some +sleep after awhile. But I still cannot imagine what the noise was, can +you?" + +"So many noises at night, don't you know?" said Gerald. "Especially +round an old house like this. You were not personally alarmed, were you, +Miss Montfort? I think you may be pretty sure that there was nothing +supernatural about it. Oh, I don't mean anything in particular, of +course; but--well, I never saw a ghost; and I don't believe in 'em. Do +you?" + +"Certainly not. I didn't suppose any one believed in them nowadays. +But,--do you know, I really am almost afraid my Cousin Sophronia does. +She will not listen to any explanation I can suggest. I really--oh, here +she is, Mr. Merryweather!" + +Miss Sophronia greeted Gerald with effusion. "I heard your voice, my +dear young man," she said, "and I came down to beg that you would take +tea with us this evening--with my niece--she is quite the same as my own +niece; I make no difference, dearest Margaret, I assure you,--with my +niece and me. If--if there should be any more unpleasant occurrences, it +would be a comfort to have a man, however young, on the premises. Willis +sleeps in the barn, and he is deaf, and would be of little use. He +couldn't even be of the smallest use, if we should be murdered in our +beds." + +"Oh, but we are not going to be murdered, Cousin Sophronia," said +Margaret, lightly. "We are going to be very courageous, and just let +that noise understand that we care nothing whatever about it." + +"Margaret, my love, you are trivial," responded Miss Sophronia, +peevishly. "I wish you would pay attention when I speak. I ask Mr. +Merryweather to take tea with us, and you talk about noises. Very +singular, I am sure." + +"Oh, but of course it would be very pleasant, indeed, to have Mr. +Merryweather take tea with us!" cried Margaret, in some confusion. "I +hope you will come, Mr. Merryweather." + +It appeared that nothing in the habitable universe would give Mr. +Merryweather greater pleasure. At half-past six? He would not fail to be +on hand; and if there should be noises again, why--let those who made +them look to themselves. And, with this, the young man took his leave. + +The children were very troublesome that day. Margaret could not seem to +lay her hand on any one of them. If she called Basil, he was "in the +barn, Cousin Margaret, helping Willis with the hay. Of course I'll come, +if you want me, but Willis seems to need me a good deal, if you don't +mind." + +When it was time for Susan D.'s sewing, the child came most obediently +and affectionately; but her thimble was nowhere to be found, and she had +mislaid her spool, and, finally, when everything was found, she had not +sat still ten minutes, when she was "_so_ thirsty; and must go and get a +glass of water, please, Cousin Margaret!" + +"Susan," said Margaret, "I want to talk to you, and I cannot seem to get +a chance for a word. Sit still now, like a good little girl, and tell +me--" + +"Yes, Cousin Margaret, I couldn't find my thimble first, you see; and +then there wasn't any spool, and I left it in my basket yesterday, I'm +sure I did, but Merton _will_ take it to teach the kitten tricks with, +and then it gets all dirty. Don't you know how horrid a spool is when a +kitten has been playing with it? You have to wind off yards and yards, +and then the rest is sort of fruzzly, and keeps making knots." + +"Yes, I know. Susan D., what were you doing last evening?" said +Margaret. + +"Last evening?" repeated the child. "We were in the summer-house, +Cousin Margaret. We were playing Scottish Chiefs, don't you know? Merton +had to play Lord Soulis, 'cause he drew the short straw; but he got +cross, and wouldn't play good a bit." + +"Wouldn't play _well_, or _nicely_," corrected Margaret. "But after +that, Susan dear?" + +"That took a long time," said the child. It seemed, when she was alone +with Margaret, that she could not talk enough; the little pent-up nature +was finding most delightful relief and pleasure in unfolding before the +sympathy that was always warm, always ready. + +"You see, when it came to carrying me off (I was Helen Mar, after I'd +been Marion and was dead), Merton was just horrid. He said he wouldn't +carry me off; he said he wouldn't have me for a gift, and called me +Scratchface, and all kinds of names. And of course Lord Soulis wouldn't +have talked that way; so Wallace (of course Basil _had_ to be Wallace +when he drew the long straw, and he never cheats, though Merton does, +whenever he gets a chance)--well, and so, Wallace told him, if he +didn't carry me off in two shakes of a cat's tail--" + +"Susan D.!" + +"Well, that's what he _said_, Cousin Margaret. I'm telling you just as +it happened, truly I am. If he didn't carry me off in two shakes of a +cat's tail, he'd pitch him over the parapet,--you know there's a +splendid parapet in the summer-house,--and so he wouldn't, and so he +did; but Mert held on, and they both went over into the meadow. I guess +Lord Soulis got the worst of it down there, for when they climbed up +again he did carry me off, though he pinched me hard all the way, and +made my arm all black and blue; I didn't say anything, because I was +Helen Mar, but I gave it to him good--I mean well--this morning, and +served him out. And then Wallace had to rescue me, of course, and that +was _great_, and we all fell over the parapet again, and that was the +way I tore the gathers out of my frock. So you see, Cousin Margaret!" + +Susan D. paused for breath, and bent over her sewing with exemplary +diligence. Margaret took the child's chin in her hand, and raised her +face towards her. + +"Susan," she said, gently, "after you had that fine play--it must have +been a great play, and I wish I had seen it--after that, what did you +do?" + +"We--we--went to bed!" said Susan D. + +"Why did you go without coming to say good night? Answer me truly, dear +child." + +The two pairs of gray eyes looked straight into each other. A shadow of +fear--a suggestion of the old look of distrust and suspicion--crept into +the child's eyes for a moment; but before Margaret's kind, firm, loving +gaze it vanished and was gone. A wave of colour swept over her face; her +eyes wavered, gave one imploring glance, and fell. + +"Aren't you going to tell me, Susan D.?" asked Margaret once more. + +"N--no!" said Susan D., in a whisper scarcely audible. + +"No? And why not, dear child?" + +"I promised!" whispered Susan D. + +"Susan D., do you know anything about that strange noise that frightened +us so last night?" + +But not another word would Susan D. say. She looked loving, imploring, +deprecating; she threw her arms around Margaret's neck, and hid her face +and clung to her; but no word could she be brought to say. At last +Margaret, displeased and puzzled, felt constrained to tell the child +rather sternly to fold her work and go away, and not come back to her +till she could answer questions properly. Susan went obediently; at the +door she hesitated, and Margaret heard a little sigh, which made her +heart go out in sympathy toward the little creature. Instantly she rose, +and, going to the child, put her arms round her affectionately. + +"Darling, I think you are puzzled about something," she said, quickly. +Susan D. nodded, and clung close to her cousin's side. + +"I will not ask you anything more," said Margaret. "I am going to trust +you, Susan D., not to do anything wrong. Remember, dear, that the two +most important things in the world are truth and kindness. Now kiss me, +dear, and go." + +Left alone, Margaret sat for some time, puzzling over what had happened, +and wondering what would happen next. It was evident that the children +were concerned in some way, or at least had some knowledge, of the +mysterious sounds which had so alarmed Miss Sophronia. What ought she to +do? How far must she try to force confession from them, if it were her +duty to try; and how could she do it? + +Thus pondering, she became aware of voices in the air; she sat near the +open window, and the voices were from above her. The nursery window! She +listened, bending nearer, and holding her breath. + +"Well, if you back out now, Susan D., it will be mean!" Basil was +saying. "What did you say to her?" + +"I didn't say anything!" Susan D. answered, sullenly. + +"Why didn't you tell her that we had a pain, and didn't want to bother +her, 'cause she had company?" cried Merton, eagerly. "I had that all +fixed to tell her, only she never asked me." + +"I wouldn't tell her a lie," said Susan D. "Basil, you wouldn't tell her +a lie, either, you know you wouldn't, when she looks at you that way, +straight at you, and you can't get your eyes away." + +"Of course I wouldn't," said Basil. "And the reason she didn't ask you, +Merton, was because she knew it wouldn't make much difference what you +said. That's the trouble about you. But now, Susan, if you had only had +a little dipplo-macy, you could have got through all right, as I did." + +"I don't know what you mean by dipplo-macy," retorted Susan. + +"Ho, stupid!" sneered Merton. + +"I don't believe you know what it means yourself!" cried Basil. "Come, +tell now, if you are so wise. What does it mean? Ah, I knew you didn't +know! You _are_ a sneak, Mert! Well, I guess in the beginning, when Adam +was making the words, you know, he must have wanted to hide from the +serpent or something--perhaps a hairy mammoth, or a megatherium, I +shouldn't wonder,--so he said, 'Dip low,' and then 'Massy!' for a kind +of exclamation, you see. And spelling gets changed a lot in the course +of time; you can see that just from one class to another in the grammar +school. Well, anyhow, it means a sort of getting round things, managing +them, without telling lies, or truth either." + +"You've got to tell one or the other," objected Susan D. + +"No, you haven't, either! Now, how did I manage? I have just kept out of +Cousin Margaret's way all day, so far, and I'm going to keep out the +rest of it. I've been helping Willis ever since breakfast, and he says I +really helped him a great deal, and I'll make a farmer yet; only I +won't, 'cause I'm going into the navy. And now pretty soon I'm going in, +in a tearing hurry, and ask her if I can take some lunch and go over to +see Mr. Merryweather at the bog, 'cause he is going to give me a lesson +in surveying. He _is_; he said he would, any time I came over. And so, +you see--" + +"That's all very well," interrupted Merton, scornfully. "But when it +comes night, what'll you do then, I should like to know?" + +"Easy enough. I shall have a headache, and she won't ask me questions +when I have a headache; she'll just sit and stroke my head, and put me +to sleep." + +"Ho! How'll you get your headache? Have to tell a lie then, I guess." + +"No, sir, I won't! And if you say that again, I'll bunt you up against +the wall. Easy enough to get a headache. I don't know whether I shall +eat hot doughnuts, or just ram my head against the horse-chestnut-tree +till it aches; but I'll get the headache, you may bet your boots--" + +"Basil, she asked you not to say that, and you said you wouldn't." + +"Well, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to. Pull out a hair, Susan D., and then +I shall remember next time. Ouch! You pulled out two." + +"I say, come on!" cried Merton. "We've got lots of things to see to. We +have to--" + +The voices were gone. Margaret sat still, sewing steadily, and working +many thoughts into her seam. + +It might have been half an hour after this that Basil burst into the +room, breathless and beaming, his tow-colored hair standing on end. "Oh, +Cousin Margaret, can I--I mean may I, go over to the bog? Mr. +Merryweather said he would give me a lesson in surveying; and Frances is +going to put me up some luncheon, and I'm in a _norful_ hurry. May I go, +please?" + +"Yes, Basil; you may go after you have answered me one question." + +"Yes, Cousin Margaret," said the diplomat. "I may miss Mr. Merryweather +if I don't go pretty quick, but of course I will." + +"Basil, did you make that strange noise last night?" + +"No, Cousin Margaret!" cried the boy; the smile seemed to break from +every corner of his face at once, and his eyes looked straight truth +into hers. "I did not. Is that all? You said one question! Thank you +ever and ever so much! Good-bye!" And he was gone. + +"It is quite evident that I am not a dipplo-mat," said Margaret, with a +laugh that ended in a sigh. "I wish Uncle John would come home!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE. + + +The evening fell close and hot. Gerald Merryweather, taking his way to +Fernley House, noticed the great white thunder-heads peering above the +eastern horizon. "There'll be trouble by and by," he said. + + "I wonder, oh, I wonder, + If they're afraid of thunder. + +"Ever lapsing into immortal verse, my son. You are the Lost Pleiad of +Literature, that's what you are; and a mighty neat phrase that is. Oh, +my Philly, why aren't you here, to take notice of my coruscations? Full +many a squib is born to blaze unseen, and waste its fizzing--Hello, you, +sir! Stop a minute, will you?" + +A small boy was scudding along the path before him. He turned his head, +but on seeing Gerald he only doubled his rate of speed. Merton was a +good runner for his size, but it was ill trying to race the Gambolling +Greyhound, as Gerald had been called at school. Two or three quick +steps, two or three long, lopping bounds, and Master Merton was caught, +clutched by the collar, and held aloft, wriggling and protesting. + +"You let me go!" whined Merton. "Oh, please Mr. Merryweather, don't stop +me now. It's very important, indeed, it is." + +"Just what I was thinking," said Gerald. "We'll go along together, my +son. I wouldn't squirm, if I were you; destructive to the collar; +believe one who has suffered. What! it is not so many years. Take +courage, small cat, and strive no more!" + +Merton, after one heroic wriggle, gave up the battle, and walked beside +his captor in sullen silence. + +"Come!" said Gerald. "Let us be merry, my son. As to that noise, now!" + +"What noise?" asked Merton, peevishly. + +"The roarer, my charmer. Why beat about the bush? You frightened the +old--that is, you alarmed both your cousins, with the joyful instrument +known among the profane as a roarer. Tush! Why attempt concealment? Have +I not roared, when time was? And a very pretty amusement, I could never +deny; but I wouldn't try it again, that's all. You hear, young sir? I +wouldn't try it again." + +"I don't know what you mean--" Merton began; but at this Gerald lifted +him gently from the ground by his shirt-collar, and, waving him about, +intimated gently that it would not be good for his health to tell lies. + +"Well, I didn't do it, anyhow!" Merton protested. "Honest, I did not." + +"Honesty is not written in your expressive countenance, Master Merton +Montfort," said Gerald. "However, it may be so. We shall see. Meantime, +young fellow, and merely as between man and man, you understand, it +would be money in your youthful pocket if you could acquire the habit of +looking a person in the eyes, and not directing that cherubic gaze at +the waistcoat buttons, or even the necktie, of your in-ter-loc-utor. +Now, here we are at the house, and you may go, my interesting popinjay. +Bear in mind that my eye is upon you. Adieu! adieu! Rrrrrememberrrr +me!!!" + +Gerald put such dramatic fervour into this farewell that Merton was as +heartily frightened as he could have desired, and scurried away without +stopping to look behind. + +"That's not such a very nice little boy, I believe," said Gerald. +"T'other one is worth a cool dozen of Master Merton. Well, they won't do +much mischief while I am to the fore. Though I should be loth to +interfere with the end they probably have in view. I should like full +well myself to make that-- Ah, good evening, Miss Montfort!" + + * * * * * + +It was so hot after tea, that even Miss Sophronia made no suggestion of +sitting in the house. They all assembled on the verandah, which faced +south, so that generally here, if anywhere, a breath of evening coolness +might be had. To-night, however, no such breath was to be felt. The +thunder-heads had crept up, up, half-way across the sky; their snowy +white had changed to blackish blue; and now and again, there opened +here or there what looked like a deep cavern, filled with lurid flame; +and then would follow a long, rolling murmur, dying away into faint +mutterings and losing itself among the treetops. + +Miss Sophronia was very uneasy. At one moment she declared she must go +into the house, she could not endure this; the next she vowed she would +rather see the danger as it came, and she would never desert the others, +never. + +"Do you think there is danger, my dear young man?" she asked, for +perhaps the tenth time. + +"Why, no!" said Gerald. "No more than usual, Miss Montfort. These trees, +you see, are a great protection. If the lightning strikes one of them, +of course it will divert the fluid from the house. If you have no iron +about your person--" + +But here Miss Sophronia interrupted him. She begged to be excused for a +moment, and went into the house. When she returned, her head was +enveloped in what looked like a "tidy" of purple wool, while her feet +were shuffling along in a pair of blue knitted slippers. + +"There!" she said, "I have removed every atom of metal, my dear young +man, down to my hairpins, I assure you; and there were nails in my +shoes, Margaret. My dear, I advise you to follow my example. So +important, I always say, to obey the dictates of science. I shall always +consider it a special providence that sent this dear young man to us at +this trying time. Go at once, dearest Margaret, I implore you." + +But Margaret refused to adopt any such measures of precaution. She was +enjoying the slow oncoming of the storm; she had seldom seen anything +more beautiful, she thought, and Gerald agreed with her. He was sitting +near her, and had taken Merton on his knee, to that young gentleman's +manifest discomposure. He wriggled now and then, and muttered some +excuse for getting down, but Gerald blandly assured him each time that +he was not inconveniencing him in the least, and begged him to make +himself comfortable, and entirely at home. Meantime, Margaret had +called Basil and Susan D. to her side, and was holding a hand of each, +calling upon them from time to time to see the wonderful beauty of the +approaching storm. They responded readily enough, and were really +interested and impressed. Once or twice, it is true, Basil stole a +glance at his sister, and generally found her looking at him in a +puzzled, inquiring fashion; then he would shake his head slightly, and +give himself up once more to watching the sky. + +It was a very extraordinary sky. The clouds, now deep purple, covered it +almost from east to west; only low down in the west a band of angry +orange still lingered, and added to the sinister beauty of the scene. +The red caverns opened deeper and brighter, and now and again a long, +zigzag flash of gold stood out for an instant against the black, and +following it came crack upon crack of thunder, rolling and rumbling over +their heads. But still the air hung close and heavy, still there was no +breath of wind, no drop of rain. + +Sitting thus, and for the moment silent, there came, in a pause of the +thunder, a new sound; a sound that some of them, at least, knew well. +Close at hand, rising apparently from the very wall at their side, came +the long, eerie wail of the night before. Louder and louder it swelled, +till it rang like a shriek in their ears, then suddenly it broke and +shuddered itself away, till only the ghost of a sound crept from their +ears, and was lost. Margaret and Gerald both sprang to their feet, the +girl held the children's hands fast in hers, the lad clutched the boy in +his arms till he whimpered and cried; their eyes met, full of inquiry, +the same thought flashing from blue eyes and gray. Not the children? +What, then? Before Gerald could speak, Miss Sophronia was clinging to +him again, shrieking and crying; calling upon him to save her; but this +time Gerald put her aside with little ceremony. + +"If you'll take this boy!" he cried. "Hold him tight, please, and don't +let him get off. I'm going--if I may?" he looked swift inquiry at +Margaret. + +"Oh, yes, yes!" cried the girl. "Do go! We are all right. Cousin +Sophronia, you _must_ let him go." + +Dropping Merton into the affrighted lady's arms, the lithe, active youth +was in the house in an instant, following the Voice of Fernley. There it +came again, rising, rising,--the cry of a lost soul, the wail of a +repentant spirit. + +"A roarer, by all means!" said young Merryweather. "But where, and by +whom?" He ran from side to side, laying his ear against the wall here, +there, following the sound. Suddenly he stopped short, like a dog +pointing. Here, in this thickness of the wall, was it? Then, there must +be a recess, a something. What corresponded to this jog? Ha! that little +low door, almost hidden by the great picture of the boar-hunt. Locked? +No; only sticking, from not having been opened, perhaps, for years. It +yielded. He rushed in,--the door closed behind him with a spring. He +found himself in total darkness,--darkness filled with a hideous cry, +that rang out sharp and piercing,--then fell into sudden silence. + +"Is it you, Master Merton?" said a whisper. "I didn't wait; I thought +maybe--" + +Gerald stretched out his arm, and grasped a solid form. Instantly he was +grasped in return by a pair of strong arms,--grasped and held with as +powerful a grip as his own. A full minute passed, two creatures +clutching each other in the pit-dark, listening to each other's +breathing, counting each other's heart-beats. Then-- + +"Who are you?" asked Gerald, under his breath. + +"None of your business!" was the reply, low, but prompt. "Who are you, +if it comes to that?" + +"Why,--why, you're a woman!" + +"And you're a man, and that's worse. What are you doing here?" + +"I am taking tea here. I'm a visitor. I have been here all the evening." + +"And I've been here twenty years. I'm the cook." + +The young man loosed his hold, and dropped on the floor. He rocked back +and forth, in silent convulsions of laughter. + +"The cook! Great Caesar, the cook! Oh, dear me! Stop me, somebody. +What--what did you do it for?" he gasped, between the paroxysms. + +"Hush! Young Mr. Merryweather, is it? Do be quiet, sir! We're close by +the verandah. Was--was she frightened, sir?" + +"She? Who? One of 'em was." + +"She--the old one. I wouldn't frighten Miss Margaret; but she has too +much sense. Was the other one scared, sir?" + +"Into fits, very near. You did it well, Mrs. Cook! I couldn't have done +it better,--look here! I shall have to tell them, though. I came +expressly to find out--" + +Groping in the dark, Frances clutched his arm again, this time in a +gentler grasp. "Don't you do it, sir!" she whispered. "Young gentleman, +don't you do it! If you do, she'll stay here all her days. No one can't +stand her, sir, and this were the only way. Hark! Save us! What's that?" + +No glimmer of light could penetrate to the closet where they stood, in +the thickness of the wall, but a tremendous peal of thunder shook the +house, and Miss Sophronia's voice could be heard calling frantically on +Gerald to come back. + +"I must go," said Gerald. "I--I won't give you away, Mrs. Cook. Shake!" + +"You're a gentleman, sir," replied Frances. They shook hands in the +dark, and Gerald ran out. Even as he opened the door the storm broke. A +violent blast of wind, a blinding flare, a rattling volley of thunder, +and down came the rain. + +A rush, a roar, the trampling of a thousand horses; and overhead the +great guns bellowing, and the flashes coming and going--it was a wild +scene. The family had come in, and were all standing in the front hall. +All? No, two, only,--Margaret and Miss Sophronia. In the confusion and +tumult, the children had escaped, and were gone. Margaret, a little +pale, but perfectly composed, met Gerald with a smile, as if it were the +most ordinary thing in the world for young gentlemen to walk out of the +wall. She was supporting Miss Sophronia, who had quite lost her head, +and was crying piteously that they would die together, and that whoever +escaped must take her watch and chain back to William. "Poor William, +what will become of him and those helpless babes?" + +"It's all right, Miss Montfort," said Gerald, cheerfully. "I ran the +noise down, and it was the simplest thing in the world. Nothing to be +alarmed about, I do assure you; nothing." + +"What was it?" asked Margaret, in an undertone. + +"I'll tell you by and by," replied the young man, in the same tone. "Not +now, please; I promised--somebody. You shall know all in good time." + +His look of bright confidence was not to be resisted. Margaret nodded +cheerfully, and submitted to be mystified in her own home by an almost +total stranger. Indeed, the Voice of Fernley had suddenly sunk into +insignificance beside the Voice of Nature. The turmoil outside grew more +and more furious. At length a frightful crash announced that the +lightning had struck somewhere very near the house. This was the last +straw for poor Miss Sophronia. She fled up-stairs, imploring Gerald and +Margaret to follow her. "Let us die together!" she cried. "I am +responsible for your young lives; we will pass away in one embrace. The +long closet, Margaret! It is our only chance of life,--the long closet!" + +The long closet, as it was called, was in reality a long enclosed +passage, leading from the Blue Room, where Miss Sophronia slept, to one +of the spare chambers beyond. It was a dim place, lighted only by a +transom above the door. Here were kept various ancient family relics +which would not bear the light of day; a few rusty pictures, some +ancient hats, and, notably, a bust of some deceased Montfort, which +stood on a shelf, covered with a white sheet, like a half-length ghost. +Margaret did not think this gloomy place at all a cheerful place for a +nervous woman in a thunder-storm; so, nodding to Gerald to follow, she +ran up-stairs. But before she reached the landing, terrific shrieks +began to issue from the upper floor; shrieks so agonising, so +ear-piercing, that they dominated even the clamour of the storm. +Margaret flew, and Gerald flew after. What new portent was here? +Breathless, Margaret reached the door of the long closet. It stood open. +On the floor inside crouched Miss Sophronia, uttering the frantic +screams which rang through the house. Apparently she had lost the use of +her limbs from terror, else she would not have remained motionless +before the figure which was advancing towards her from the gloom of the +long passage. First a dusky whiteness glimmered from the black of the +further end, where the half-ghost sat on its shelf; then gradually the +whiteness detached itself, took shape,--if it could be called +shape,--emerged into the dim half-light,--came on slowly, silently. +Shrouded, like the ghostly bust behind it, tall and slender, with dark +locks escaping beneath the hood or cowl that drooped low over its +face,--with one hand raised, and pointing stiffly at the unhappy +woman,--the figure came on--and on--till it saw Margaret. Then it +stopped. Next came in view the bright, eager face of Gerald +Merryweather, looking over Margaret's shoulder. And at that, the +spectre began, very slowly, and with ineffable dignity, to retreat. + +"Exclusive party," whispered Gerald. "Objects to our society, Miss +Montfort. Shall I head him off, or let him go?" + +Margaret made no reply; she was bending over the poor lady on the floor, +trying to make her hear, trying to check the screams which still rang +out with piercing force. + +[Illustration: A LIVELY GHOST.] + +"Cousin Sophronia! Cousin, do stop! Do listen to me! It is a trick, a +naughty, naughty trick; nothing else in the world. Do, please, stop +screaming, and listen to me. Oh, what shall I do with her?" This remark +was addressed to Gerald; but that young gentleman was no longer beside +her. He had been keeping his eye on the spectre, which slowly, softly +glided back and back, until it melted once more into the thick blackness +at the further end. Gerald dodged out into the hall, and ran along the +outer passage, to meet, as he expected, the ghost full and fair at the +other door. "Run!" cried a small voice. "I'll hold him; run!" Gerald was +grasped once more, this time by a pair of valiant little hands which +did their best, and which he put aside very gently, seeing a petticoat +beneath them. "You sha'n't catch him!" cried the second spectre, +clinging stoutly to his legs. + + "Twice he wrung her hands in twain, + But the small hands closed again!" + +Meantime the spectre-in-chief had darted back into the closed passage. +There was a crash. The half-ghost toppled over as he ran against it, and +was shivered on the floor, adding another noise to the confusion. The +phantom raced along the passage, took a flying leap over Miss +Sophronia's prostrate form, revealing, had any looked, an unsuspected +blackness of leg beneath the flowing white, and scudded along the square +upper hall. By this time Gerald was at his heels again, and a pretty +race it was. Round the hall, up the stairs, and round the landing of the +attic flight. At the attic door the spectre wavered an instant,--then +turned, and dashed down-stairs again. Once more round the upper hall, +now down the great front staircase, gathering his skirts as he went, +the black legs now in good evidence, and making wonderful play. A good +runner, surely. But the Greyhound was gaining; he was upon him. The +phantom gave a wild shriek, gained the front door with one desperate +leap, and plunged, followed by his pursuer, into the arms of a gentleman +who stood in the doorway, in the act of entering. + +"Easy, there!" said Mr. Montfort, receiving pursuer and pursued with +impartial calm. "Is it the Day of Judgment, or what?" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +A DEPARTURE. + + +"I am extremely sorry, Sophronia, that you were so alarmed last night. I +trust you feel no ill effects this morning?" + +"Ill effects! My dear John, I am a wreck! Simply a wreck, mentally and +physically. I shall never recover from it--never." + +"Oh, don't say that, Cousin Sophronia!" exclaimed Margaret, who was +really much distressed at all that passed. + +"My love, if it is the truth, I must say it. Truth, Margaret, is what I +live for. No, I shall never recover, I feel it. My prayer is that these +unhappy children may never know that they are the cause of my +untimely--" + +"Has Basil made his apology?" asked Mr. Montfort, abruptly. + +"Yes, John, yes; I am bound to say he has, though he showed little +feeling in it. Not a tenth part so much as little Merton, who was in +real sorrow,--actually shed tears,--although he had no hand in the cruel +deceit. Ah! Merton is the only one of those children who has any heart." + +"Indeed?" said Mr. Montfort, "I didn't know it was as bad as that." + +"Quite, I assure you, dearest John. If it were not for my poor William +and his children, I should take Merton with me and be a mother to him. +His nerves, like mine, are shattered by the terrible occurrences of the +last two nights. He was positively hysterical as he pointed out to +me--what I had already pointed out to you, Margaret--that the _real +thing_ had not been explained. I might, in time, live down the effect of +those children's wicked jest; but the Voice of Fernley has never been +explained, and never will be." + +Mr. Montfort pulled his moustache, and looked out of the window, +observing the prospect; but Margaret cried: + +"Oh, Cousin Sophronia, you are wrong; indeed, indeed you are! Young Mr. +Merryweather found out all about it last night, only he had not time to +tell us. He said it was something perfectly simple, and that there was +no need of being alarmed in the least." + +"By the way," said Mr. Montfort, "I have a note from the lad this +morning. He found some special tools were needed, and went up to town by +the early train to see about them. May be gone a day or two, he says. +What was the noise like, Margaret?" + +Margaret was about to tell all she knew, but Miss Sophronia interrupted. +"Spare me, dearest Margaret, spare me the recalling of details. I am +still too utterly broken,--I shall faint, I know I shall. John, it was +simply the voice that was heard ten, or it may be fifteen years ago, +when I was a young girl. You must remember; it is impossible but that +you must remember." + +"I remember perfectly," said Mr. Montfort. "That was thirty years ago, +Sophronia; that was in 1866. Oh, yes, I remember." Again Mr. Montfort +became absorbed in the view from the window. His face was very grave; +why, then, did the buttons on his waistcoat shake? "And Master Merton +was frightened, was he?" he resumed, presently. "Ha! that looks bad. +Good morning, Jones," as a respectable-looking man in livery came up the +gravel walk. "A note for me? no answer? thanks." The man touched his +hat, and departed; Mr. Montfort opened the pretty, pearl-coloured note, +and read, as follows: + + "DEAR JOHN: + + "Don't punish the children; it was partly my + fault, and partly your own. I supposed you + expected something to happen, and I thought the + old trick would serve as well as a new one. + + "As ever, + E. P." + +"Humph!" said Mr. Montfort, twisting the note, and frowning at the +window. "Precisely! and so, you were saying, Sophronia--ahem! that is, +you are obliged to leave us?" + +"Yes, my dearest John, I must go. I could not, no! I could not sleep +another night beneath this roof. I have told Willis. I am cut to the +heart at leaving you, so helpless, with only this poor child here, and +those--those dreadful children of Anthony's. I would so gladly have +made a home for you, my poor cousin. I live only for others; but still +it seems my duty _to_ live, and I am convinced that another night here +would be my death." + +"I will not attempt to change your purpose, Sophronia. At the same time +I am bound to tell you that--a--that the disturbance of which you speak +is of no supernatural kind, but is attributable to--to human agency +altogether. If you wish, I will have it looked into at once, or we can +wait till young Merryweather comes back. He seemed to know about it, you +say, Margaret. And--but at any rate, Sophronia, we can write you the +sequel, and, if you feel uneasy, why, as you say-- You have ordered +Willis? Then I'll go and get some tags for your trunks." + +Mr. Montfort retired with some alacrity, and Margaret, with an +unexplained feeling of guilt at her heart, offered to help Miss +Sophronia with her packing. + +An hour later the lady was making her adieux. The carriage was at the +door, Willis had strapped on the two trunks, and all was ready. Mr. +Montfort shook his cousin by the hand, and was sorry that her visit had +ended in such an untoward manner. Margaret begged Cousin Sophronia's +pardon for anything she might have done amiss. Indeed, the girl's heart +was full of a vague remorse. She had tried, but she felt that she might +have tried harder to make things go smoothly. But Miss Sophronia bore, +she declared, no malice to any one. + +"I came, dear John, determined to do my best, to be a sister to you in +every way; it will always be a comfort to think that I have been with +you these two months. It may be that some time, when my nerves are +restored, I may be able to come to Fernley again; if you should make any +changes, you understand me. Indeed, a complete change, my dear cousin, +is the thing I should most recommend. Missing me as you will,--a +companion of your own age,--you might still marry, dearest John, you +might indeed. Emily--" + +"That will do, Sophronia!" said Mr. Montfort, sternly. "Have you +everything you want for the journey?" + +"Everything, I think, dear John. Ah! well, good-bye, Margaret! It has +been a blow to find that you do not love me, my dear, as I have loved +you, but we must bear our burdens." + +"What do you--what can you mean, Cousin Sophronia?" asked Margaret, +turning crimson. "I am sure I have tried--" + +"Ah! well, my dear, one gives oneself away," said the lady. "You said in +your letter to your cousin,--I recall the precise words--'I have tried +to love her, but I cannot succeed.' Yes; very painful to one who has a +heart like mine; but I find so few--" + +"Cousin Sophronia," cried the girl, all softer thoughts now merged in a +burning resentment. "You--you read my letter, the letter that was on my +own desk, in my own room?" + +"Certainly, my love, I did. I hope I know something about young girls +and their ways; I considered it my duty, my sacred duty, to see what you +wrote." + +"You seem to know little about the ways of gentle people!" cried +Margaret, unable for once to restrain herself. Her uncle laid his hand +on her arm. "Steady, little woman!" he said. His quiet, warning voice +brought the angry girl to herself, the more quickly that she knew his +sympathy was all with her. + +"I--I should not have said that, Cousin Sophronia," she said. "I beg +your pardon! Good-bye!" + +She could not say more; she stood still, with burning cheeks, while Mr. +Montfort helped the lady into the carriage. + +"A pleasant journey to you, Sophronia," he said, as he closed the door. +"Willis--" + +"Good-bye!" cried Miss Sophronia, out of the window. "Bless you, dearest +John! Margaret, my love, I shall always think of you most tenderly, +believe me, in spite of everything. It is impossible for me to harbour +resentment. No, my child, I shall always love you as a sister. I have +taken the old vinaigrette with me, as a little souvenir of you; I knew +it would give you pleasure to have me use it. Bless you! And, John, if +you want me to look up some good servants for you, I know of an +excellent woman who would be the very thing--" + +"Willis!" said Mr. Montfort again. "You'll miss that train, Sophronia, +if you don't,--_bon voyage!_" + +Mr. Montfort stood for some seconds looking after the carriage as it +drove off; then he drew a long breath, and threw out his arms, opening +his broad chest. + +"Ha!" said he. "So that is over. Here endeth the-- What, crying, May +Margaret? Come and sit here beside me, child; or shall we come out and +see the roses? Really astonishing to have this number of roses in +August; but some of these late kinds are very fine, I think." + +Chatting quietly and cheerfully, he moved from one shrub to another, +while Margaret wiped her eyes, and gradually quieted her troubled +spirit. + +"Thank you, Uncle John!" she said, presently. "You know, don't you? You +always know, just as papa did. But--but I never heard of any one's doing +such a thing, did you?" + +"Didn't you, my dear? Well, you see, you didn't know your Cousin +Sophronia when she was a girl. And--let us be just," he added. "You, +belonging to the new order, have no idea of what many people thought and +did forty years ago. I have no doubt, from my recollection of my Aunt +Melissa, Sophronia's mother, that she read all her children's letters. I +know she searched my pockets once, thinking I had stolen sugar; I +hadn't, that time, and my white rat was in my pocket, and bit her, and I +was glad." + +Seeing Margaret laugh again, Mr. Montfort added, in a different tone, +"And now, I must see those boys." + +The children were sent for to the study, where they remained for some +time. Basil and Susan D. came out looking very grave; they went up to +the nursery in silence, and sat on the sofa, rubbing their heads +together, and now and then exchanging a murmur of sympathy and +understanding. Merton remained after the others, and when he emerged +from the fatal door, he was weeping profusely, and refused to be +comforted by Elizabeth; and was found an hour after, pinching Chico's +tail, and getting bitten in return. Telling Margaret about it +afterward, Mr. Montfort said: + +"Basil and the little girl tell a perfectly straight story. It is just +as I supposed; they were trying the old ghost trick that we other boys, +your father and Richard and I, Margaret, played on Sophronia years ago. +If the thunder-storm had not brought you all up-stairs, there would have +been some very pretty ghost-gliding, and the poor soul would very likely +have been frightened into a real fit instead of an imaginary one. +Children don't realise that sort of thing; I certainly did not, nor my +brothers; but I think these two realise it now, and they are not likely +to try anything of the kind again. As for the noise,--" + +"Yes, Uncle John, I am really much more puzzled about that noise, for, +of course, I saw the other foolishness with my eyes." + +"Well!" said Mr. Montfort, comfortably, "we used to make that noise with +a thing we called a roarer; I don't know whether they have such things +now. You take a tomato-can, and put a string through it, and then you-- +It really does make a fine noise, very much what you describe. Yes, I +have that on my conscience, too, Margaret. You see, I told you I knew +this kind of child, and so I do, and for good reason. But Basil won't +say anything at all about the matter. He says it was not his hunt, and +he will tell all that he did, but cannot tell on others; which is +entirely proper. But when I turned to that other little scamp, Merton, I +could get nothing but floods of tears, and entreaties that I would ask +Frances. 'Frances knows all about it!' he said, over and over." + +"And have you seen Frances?" + +"N--no," replied Mr. Montfort, rather slowly. "I am going to see Frances +now." + +Accordingly, a few minutes later, Frances, bustling about her kitchen, +became aware of her master standing in the doorway. She became aware of +him, I say, but it was with "the tail of her eye" only; she took no +notice of him, and went on rattling dish-pans at an alarming rate. She +appeared to be house-cleaning; at all events, the usually neat kitchen +was in a state of upheaval, and the chairs and tables, tubs and +clothes-horses, were so disposed that it was next to impossible for any +one to enter. Moreover, Frances apparently had a toothache, for her face +was tied up in a fiery red handkerchief; and when Mr. Montfort saw that +handkerchief, he looked grave, and hung about the door more like a +schoolboy than a dignified gentleman and the proprietor of Fernley +House. + +"Good morning, Frances," he said at length, in a conciliatory tone. + +"Good morning, sir," said Frances; and plunged her mop into a pail of +hot water. + +"You have a toothache, Frances? I am very sorry." + +"Yes, sir, I have; thank you, sir." + +"A--Frances--I came to ask if you can tell me anything about the strange +noise that frightened the ladies so, last night and the night before." + +"No, sir," said Frances. "I can't tell you nothing about it. There do be +rats enough in this house, Mr. Montfort, to make any kind of a noise; +and I do wish, sir, as the next time you are in town, you would get me a +rat-trap as is good for something. There's nothing but trash, as the +rats won't look at, and small blame to them. I can't be expected to do +without things to do with, Mr. Montfort, and I was saying so to +Elizabeth only this morning." + +"I will see to the traps, Frances. But this noise that I am speaking of; +Master Merton says--" + +"And I was wishful to ask you, sir, if you would please tell Master +Merton to keep out of my kitchen, and not come bothering here every hour +in the day. The child is that greedy, he do eat himself mostly ill every +day, sir, as his father would be uneasy if he knew it, sir. And to have +folks hanging round my kitchen when I am busy is a thing I never could +abide, Mr. John, as you know very well, sir, and I hope you'll excuse me +for speaking out; and if you'd go along, sir, and be so kind, maybe I +could get through my cleaning so as to have dinner not above half an +hour or so late, though I'm doubtful myself, harried as I have been." + +"I really don't see what I am to do with Frances," said Mr. Montfort, as +he went back to his study; "she grows more and more impracticable. She +will be giving me notice to quit one of these days, if I don't mind. I +am very sure the house belongs to her, and not to me. But, until Master +Gerald Merryweather comes back, I really don't see how I am to find out +who worked that roarer." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +PEACE. + + +Peace reigned once more at Fernley House; peace and cheerfulness, and +much joy. It was not the same peace as of old, when Margaret and her +uncle lived their quiet tete-a-tete life, and nothing came to break the +even calm of the days. Very different was the life of to-day. The peace +was spiritual purely, for the lively and varied round of daily life gave +little time for repose and meditation, at least for Margaret. She had +begun to give the children short but regular lessons in the morning, +finding that the day was not only more profitable but pleasanter for +them and for all, if it began with a little study. And the lessons were +a delight to her. Remembering her struggles with Peggy,--dear Peggy,--it +was a joy to teach these young creatures the beginnings of her beloved +English history, and to see how they leaped at it, even as she herself +had leaped so few years ago. They carried it about with them all day. +Margaret never knew whom to expect to dinner in these days. Now a +scowling potentate would stalk in with folded arms and announce that he +was William the Conqueror, and demand the whereabouts of Hereward the +Wake (who was pretty sure to emerge from under the table, and engage in +sanguinary combat, just after he had brushed his hair, and have to be +sent up to the nursery to brush it over again); now a breathless pair +would rush in, crying that they were the Princes in the Tower, and would +she please save them, for that horrid old beast of a Gloster was coming +after them just as fast as he could come. Indeed, Margaret had to make a +rule that they should be their own selves, and no one else, in the +evening when Uncle John came home, for fear of more confusion than he +would like. + +"But I get so _used_ to being Richard," cried Basil, after a day of +crusader-life. "You can't do a king well if you have to keep stopping +and being a boy half the time. Don't you see that yourself, Cousin +Margaret?" + +Yes, Margaret saw that, but she submitted that she liked boys, and that +it was trying for a person in private life, like herself, to live all +day in royal society, especially when royalty was so excited as the +Majesty of England was at this juncture. + +"Oh, but why can't you be some one too, Cousin Margaret? I suppose Susan +D. would hate to give up being Berengaria, after you gave her that +lovely gold veil--I say, doesn't she look bul--doesn't she look pretty +in it? I never thought Susan D. would come out pretty, but it's mostly +the way you do her hair--what was I saying, Cousin Margaret? Oh, yes, +but there are other people you could be, lots and lots of them. +And--Merton doesn't half do Saladin. He keeps getting mad when I run him +through the body, and I _can't_ make him understand that I don't mean +those nasty, fat, black things in ponds, when I call him 'learned +leech,' and you know he _has_ to be the leech, it says so in the +'Talisman.' And so perhaps you would be Saladin, and he can be Sir +Kenneth, though he's too sneaky for him, too. Or else you could be the +hermit, Cousin Margaret. Oh, do be the hermit! Theodoric of Engedi, you +know, the Flail of the Desert, that's a splendid one to do. All you have +to do is keep jumping about and waving something, and crying out, 'I am +Theodoric of Engedi! I am the Flail of the Desert!' Come on, Cousin +Margaret, oh, I say, do!" And Susan D., tugging at her cousin's gown, +shouted in unison, "Oh, I say, do, Cousin Margaret!" + +If any one had told Margaret Montfort, three months before this, that +she would, before the end of the summer, be capering about the garden, +waving her staff, and proclaiming herself aloud to be the highly +theatrical personage described above, she would have opened her eyes in +gentle and rather scornful amazement. But Margaret was learning many +things in these days, and among them the art of being a child. Her life +had been mostly spent with older people; she had never known till now +the rapture of being a little girl, a little boy. Now, seeing it in +these bright faces, that never failed to grow brighter at sight of her, +she felt the joy reflected in her own face, in her own heart; and it was +good to let all the quiet, contained maiden ways go, once in a while, +and just be a child with the children, or a Flail of the Desert, as in +the present instance. + +John Montfort, leaning on the gate, watched the pretty play, well +pleased. "They have done her all the good in the world," he said to +himself. "It isn't only what she has done for them, bless her, but for +her, too, it has been a great thing. I was selfish and stupid to think +that a young creature could go on growing to fulness, without other +young creatures about it. How will she feel, I wonder, about their +going? How would she like--" + +[Illustration: "THE 'FLAIL OF THE DESERT.'"] + +At this moment he was discovered by Basil, who charged him with a joyous +shout. "Oh, here is Uncle John! Oh, Uncle John, don't you want to be +Saladin, please? Here's Merton has hurt his leg and gone off in a sulk, +and I'll get you a scimitar in a minute--it's the old sickle, and Willis +says it's so rusty you can't really do much mischief with it; and +here's the Hermit of Engedi, you know, and he can shout--" + +But, alas, for the Lion-hearted! When he turned to summon his hermit, he +saw no flying figure, brandishing a walking-stick and crying aloud, but +a demure young lady, smoothing her hair hurriedly and shaking out the +folds of her dress, as she hastened to meet her uncle. + +"Bravo!" said Uncle John. "But why did you stop, Meg? It wouldn't have +been the first time I had played Saladin, I assure you!" + +"Oh, uncle! I am really too much out of breath to play any more. And +besides, it is near tea-time, and the children must go and get ready. I +will come in a moment, Susan dear, and do your hair. Are there any +letters, Uncle John? Oh, two, from the girls; how perfectly delightful! +Oh, I must run up, but we'll read them after tea, shall we, Uncle John?" + +"With all my heart, my dear; and I have a letter, too, about which I +shall want to consult you. Go now, or Susan D. will be trying to braid +her own hair, a thing to be avoided, I have observed." + +Tea over, and Mr. Montfort seated at ease with his cigar, the children +engaged in an enchanting game of Bat (played with worn-out umbrellas, +from which the sticks had been taken: this game is to be highly +recommended where there is space for flapping and swooping), Margaret +opened her letters; reopened them, rather, for it must be confessed that +she had peeped into both while she was braiding her own hair and +changing her dress for the pretty evening gown her uncle always liked to +see. + +"Peggy is actually off for school, Uncle John. It does not seem possible +that we are in September, and the summer really gone. She seems in high +spirits over it, dear child. Listen! + + "DARLING DEAREST MARGARET: + + "I am going to-morrow; I waited till the last + minute, so that I could tell you the last of + me. My trunk is almost all packed, and I really + think I have done it pretty well. Thank you, + ever and ever and ever so much, for the nice + things to tie up my shoes in. They are just + lovely, and so is the shoe-bag to hang against + the wall. I mean to put away every shoe just + the very minute I take it off, and not have + them kicking about the closet floor at all, + ever. And the combing-sack! Oh, Margaret, it is + a perfect beauty! Ever so much too pretty to do + my hair in, and mother says so, too, but I + shall, because you made it for me to, and think + of you all the time I am, and-- + + "I got a little mixed there, but you will know + what I mean, dearest Margaret. Tell Uncle John + I am so perfectly delighted with the lovely + ring, I don't know _what_ to _do_. Oh, + Margaret, you know how I always wanted a ring, + and how I used to admire that sapphire of + Rita's; and to think of having a sapphire ring + myself--why, I can hardly believe it even now! + I couldn't go to sleep for ever so long last + night, just watching it in the moonlight. Of + course I shall write to Uncle John and thank + him myself, but I couldn't wait just to let him + know how happy I was. (Margaret, if you think + he would like it, or at least wouldn't mind it, + you might give him a hug just now and say I + sent it, but don't unless you are _perfectly + sure_ he wouldn't mind, because you know how I + _love_ Uncle John, even if I am just the least + bit afraid of him, and I'm sure that is natural + when you think what a goose I am.)" + +Margaret paused, laughing, to throw her arms around her uncle, and tell +him that this was "Peggy's hug;" then she went on: + + "I was so glad to get your last letter, and to + hear all about dear, darling Fernley, and Uncle + John, and Elizabeth and Frances, and all the + funny things those funny children have been + doing. Margaret, they are almost exactly like + us children when we were their age. I never + began to think about growing up till I read + about how they carry on, and then saw that we + didn't act so any more, Jean, and Flora, and I. + Jean is younger than me, of course, but she's + more grown up, I really think. I think you must + have a lovely time, now that--well, you said I + mustn't call names, and so I won't, but I know + just exactly what kind of a person she was, + Margaret, and _so do you_, and you can't deny + it, so now! + + "Margaret, of course I do feel rather scared + about school, for I am still very ignorant, and + I suppose all the girls will know about forty + thousand times as much as I do, and they will + call me stupid, and I know I am; but I mean to + be brave, and remember all the things you have + said, and mother has helped me, too, oh, a lot, + and she says she just wishes she had had the + chance when she was a girl, and I know now just + how she feels. And then when I come home, you + see, I can teach the little girls, and that + will be great. But I never shall try to teach + them spelling, or history, for you know I + cannot; and I cannot remember to this day who + Thomas a Bucket was, and why they called him + that. + + "Hugh came in just now, and I asked him that, + and he laughed, and said Thomas a Bucket was + certainly pale before they got through with + him. I don't know what he means, but he says + you will, so I write it down. Good-bye, + dearest, darling Margaret. Give heaps and + oceans and lots of love to Uncle John, and most + of all to your own darling self, from + + "PEGGY." + +"I wonder how Peggy will get on at school?" said Margaret. "Very well, I +should think. Certainly no one can help liking her, dear girl; and she +will learn a great deal, I am sure." + +"She'll never learn English history," said Mr. Montfort; "but after all, +there are other things, May Margaret, though you are loth to acknowledge +it." + +"And now for Rita. I'll just run through it again, Uncle John, to +see--oh! oh, yes! The first part is all just that she wants to see me, +and so on,--her wild way. She has had the most wonderful summer,--'the +Pyrenees, Margaret! Never before have I seen great mountains, that scale +the heavens, you understand. The Titans are explained to me. I have +seen, and my soul has arisen to their height. I could dwell with thee, +Marguerite, on snow-peaks tinged with morning rose, peaks that touch the +stars, that veil themselves in clouds of evening;' perhaps I'll skip a +little here, Uncle John. Interlaken,--the Jungfrau,--oh, she _is_ having +a glorious time. Oh! oh, dear me, uncle!" + +"Well, my dear? She has not fallen off the Jungfrau?" + +"No, not that; but she--she is--or she thinks she is--going to be +married." + +Mr. Montfort whistled. "To the Matterhorn, or to some promising young +avalanche? Pray enlighten me, my dear." + +"Oh! don't laugh, Uncle John, I am afraid it may be serious. A young +Cuban, she says, a soldier, of course." Margaret ran her eyes down the +page, but found nothing sober enough to read aloud. "He seems to be a +very wonderful person," she said, timidly. "Handsome, and a miracle of +courage,--and a military genius; if war should come, Rita thinks he will +be commander-in-chief of the Cuban army. You don't think it will really +come to war, Uncle John?" + +"I cannot tell, Margaret," said Mr. Montfort, gravely. "Things are +looking rather serious, but no one can see just what is coming yet. And +this seems to be a bona fide engagement? It isn't little Fernando, is +it?" + +"No! oh, no! She says--she is sorry for Fernando, but he will always be +her brother. This one's name is--let me see. Jose Maria Salvador +Santillo de Santayana. What a magnificent name! He had followed her from +Cuba, and he has Uncle Richard's permission to pay his addresses to +Rita, and she says--she says he is the dream of her life, embodied in +the form of a Greek hero, with the soul of a poet, and the intellect of +a Shakespeare. So I suppose it is all right, uncle; only, she is very +young." + +"Young! My dear child, she was grown up while you were still in the +nursery," said Mr. Montfort. "According to Spanish ideas, it is high +time for her to be married, and I am sure I wish the dear girl all +happiness. We must look over the family trinkets, Margaret, and find +something for our bird of Paradise. There are some pretty bits of +jewelry; but that will keep. Now, if you can stop wondering and +romancing for a moment, May Margaret, I, too, have a letter, about which +I wish to consult you." + +"Yes, uncle, oh, yes! I hope he is good as well as handsome, don't you? +She says the Santillo nose is the marvel of all Cuba." + +"The Santillo nose may be pickled in brine, my dear, for ought I care; I +really want your attention, Margaret, and you must come down from the +clouds. Here is Anthony Montfort writing for his children." + +"_What!_" cried Margaret, waking suddenly from her dream. "What did you +say about the children, Uncle John? Cousin Anthony writing for them? +What can you mean?" + +"Why, my love, I mean writing for them," said Mr. Montfort, calmly. "He +is, you may remember, a relation of theirs, a father in point of fact. +He has found an excellent opening in California, and means to stay +there. He says--I'll read you his letter, or the part of it that relates +to the children. Hum--'grateful to you'--ha! yes, here it is. 'Of +course I must make some arrangement about the children. One of the boys +can come to me, but I cannot take care of both, so Basil will have to go +to boarding-school, and Susan D., too. If you would be so good as to +look up a good school or two, I should be ever so much obliged. Basil +can take care of himself, you'll only have to consign and ship him; +perhaps you can get some one to go with the little girl, and see to her +things and all that. It's a shame to call upon you,'--h'm! so forth! +Well, Meg, what do you say?" + +But Margaret said nothing. She was sitting with her hands fallen on her +lap, gazing at her uncle with a face of such piteous consternation that +he had much ado to keep his countenance. + +"Take them away!" she faltered, presently. "Take away--my children? Oh, +Uncle John!" + +Mr. Montfort looked away, and smoked awhile in silence, giving the girl +time to collect herself. Margaret struggled with the tears that wanted +to rush to her eyes. She forced herself to take up the letters that lay +in her lap and fold them methodically. When he saw that her hands +trembled less, Mr. Montfort said, quietly, "The children have been a +great deal of care to you, Margaret; but you have grown fond of them, I +know, and so have I. I think a good deal of your judgment, my dear, +young as you are. What would you like best to have done about the little +people? Take time; take time! Anthony practically leaves the whole +matter in my hands. In fact, I think he is puzzled, and feels perhaps +that he has not done as well as he might for them always. Take time, my +child." + +"Oh, I don't need any time, Uncle John!" cried Margaret, trying to speak +steadily. "I--I didn't realise, I suppose--it has all come about so +gradually--I didn't realise all that they were to me. To lose Basil and +Susan D.,--I don't see how I can let them go, uncle; I don't indeed. You +won't think me ungrateful, will you, dear? I was, oh, so happy, before +they came; but now--they are so dear, so dear! and--and Susan D. is +used to me, and to have her go to a stranger who might not understand +the poor little shut-up nature--oh, how can I bear it? how can I bear +it?" + +"Well, my dear," said Mr. Montfort, comfortably. "How if you did not +have to bear it?" + +Then, as Margaret raised her startled eyes to his, he went on, in the +kind, steady tone that always brought quiet and peace with it. + +"How if we made the present arrangement--part of it, at +least--permanent? Let Merton go to his father; I should not care to have +the bringing up of Merton. But there is an excellent school near here, +on the island, to which Basil could go, staying the week and coming home +here for Sunday; and if little Susan would not be too much care for +you,--she's a dear little girl, once you get through the prickles,--why, +May Margaret, it seems to me--" + +But Mr. Montfort got no further; for here was Margaret sobbing on his +breast as if she were Rita herself, and calling him the best and +dearest and kindest, and telling him that she was so happy, so happy; +and that was why she was crying, only she could not stop; and so on and +so on, till Uncle John really thought he should have to send for +Frances. At his suggesting this, however, Margaret laughed through her +tears, and presently struggled into something like composure. + +"And, after all," said Mr. Montfort, "how do you know the children will +want to stay with you, you conceited young woman?" + +"Oh, Uncle John! I will teach Susan D. all I know, and a great deal +more, I hope, for I shall be learning all the time now, if I have +another coming after me. And we will keep house together, and it will be +like the little sister, like little Penelope, Uncle John. And then to +have Basil coming home every week, all full of school, and fun, and +noise,--why, how perfectly delightful it will be! And I will not let +them overrun you, dear uncle; they have been good lately, haven't +they?" + +"They have been extremely good, my dear. All the same, I think you would +do well to interview them on the subject, before you prepare all your +chickens for the market. See, there are your two coming up the walk this +moment. You might go--" + +But Margaret was already gone. Mr. Montfort watched her light figure +flying down the walk, and thought she had grown almost back into a child +again, since the children came. "And yet all a woman," he said; "all a +sweet, wholesome, gentle woman. See her now with her arms around the +child; the little creature clings to her as if she were the mother it +never knew. Ah! she is telling them. No need to smother her, children. I +never really meant to separate you; no, indeed. I only wanted you to +find out for yourselves, as I have found out for myself. No more +solitude at Fernley, please God; from now on, young faces and hearts, +and sunshine, and a home; the future instead of the past." + +The good man laid down his cigar, quietly and carefully, as he did +everything, and opened his arms as the three, Margaret and her +children, came flying towards him; and they ran into those kind strong +arms and nestled there, and looked into his eyes and knew that they were +at home. + + +THE END. + + + + +THE + +"Queen Hildegarde" Series. + +By Laura E. Richards. + + +HILDEGARDE'S HARVEST. + +The _fifth volume_ of the Hildegarde Series. Illustrated with eight +full-page cuts. Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25. + +A new volume in the "Hildegarde" series, some of the best and most +deservedly popular books for girls issued in recent years. This new +volume is fully equal to its predecessors in point of interest, and is +sure to renew the popularity of the entire series. + + +HILDEGARDE'S NEIGHBORS. + +Fourth volume. Illustrated from original designs. Illustrated by L. J. +Bridgman. Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25. + + +HILDEGARDE'S HOME. + +Third volume. Illustrated with original designs by Merrill. Square 16mo, +cloth, $1.25. + + +HILDEGARDE'S HOLIDAY. + +Second volume. Illustrated with full-page plates by Copeland. Square +16mo, cloth, $1.25. + + +QUEEN HILDEGARDE. + +First volume. Illustrated from original designs by Garrett (292 pp.). +Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25. + +"We would like to see the sensible, heroine-loving girl in her early +teens who would not like this book. Not to like it would simply argue a +screw loose somewhere."--_Boston Post._ + + +THE HILDEGARDE SERIES. + +as above. 5 vols., square 16mo, put up in a neat box, $6.25. + +***Next to Miss Alcott's famous "LITTLE WOMEN" series they easily rank, +and no books that have appeared in recent times may be more safely put +into the hands of a bright, intelligent girl than these five "Queen +Hildegarde" books. + +Estes & Lauriat, Publishers, Boston. + + + + +Other Books by Laura E. Richards. + + +LOVE AND ROCKS. + +Tall 16mo, handsome cover design, etching frontispiece, $1.00. + +A charming story of one of the pleasant islands on the rugged Maine +coast, told in the author's most graceful manner. + + +WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE. + +Quarto, cloth, gilt top. Illustrated, $1.25. + +A series of papers which has already delighted the many readers of St. +Nicholas, now revised and published in book form, with many additions. +The title most happily introduces the reader to the charming home life +of Dr. Howe and Mrs. Julia Ward Howe during the childhood of the author, +and one is young again in reading the delightful sketches of happy child +life in this most interesting family. + + +GLIMPSES OF THE FRENCH COURT. + +Sketches from French History. Handsomely illustrated with a series of +portraits in etching and photogravure. Square 12mo, cloth, neat cover +design, gilt top, $1.50. + + +SAME. + +_Handsomely bound in celluloid, boxed_, $2.00. + +The History of France, during the eighteenth century, is a +treasure-house of romantic interest, from which the author has drawn a +series of papers which will appeal to all who care for the picturesque +in history. With true literary touch, she gives us the story of some of +the salient figures of this remarkable period. + +Estes & Lauriat, Publishers, Boston. + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + +Obvious punctuation errors repaired. + +Page 125, word "the" was inserted into the text (out of the window) + +Page 188, "year" changed to "years" (for thirty years) + +Page 226, "bother" changed to "bother" (want to bother her) + +Page 268, "scimetar" changed to "scimitar" (a scimitar in a) + +The asterism on used on the second to the last advertising page was +changed to *** for this text version. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Margaret Montfort, by Laura E. 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